At the Opera House
by WhatisWithin
Summary: In mere moments, he grasped Christine by the waist and pulled her under his protective dark cloak. There, pressed against his chest he moved into the shadows of the wings, Christine blinked at the sudden darkness. "Come out ghost!" A slurred voice called out. "I know you're there, and that pretty ballet rat too."
1. Chapter 1

_Paris, France, 2034, December 25_

The dust filled her lungs as she struggled to pull in air. Screams echoed through the air as she, crawled through the wreckage. Trying her best to stay low. There was smoke too, but it was above her. Lower down, there was enough air to breath.

"Papa." She croaked, pushing aside several bricks, one fell apart in her hand, spewing more dust to her face. She coughed and waved it away before containing to crawl. Her knees scrapped over the concrete and wood.

Her hands were bleeding, every part of her was bruised and scratched. The bleeding hand tugged her fur jacket up her shoulder. It was cold, almost frighteningly so. Her dress, smooth satin, didn't keep it out very well.

"Father!"

She couldn't find him. Steadily, she searched. The longer she searched, the harder it was to breath. Her throat seized up and she had to stop for a fit of coughing.

Her hand searched along her silk dress, in her pocket she pulled out her phone, it's glow lit up the way before her as she crawled.

She crawled until she could not see her skin as it was so coated in blood and dust. She crawled until her knees showed exposed flesh.

Finally she came upon an opening, she crawled through it and found a little alcove. Above her head through the steel girders and the wooden splinters she saw bits and pieces of the sky. It was grey, snow was finding it's way down through the steel girders.

Like a child, she stuck out her tongue, one snowflake fell on it. It tasted of ash.

She sighed, and sat down again, her hand scrolling through her phone. Her nails, once so perfectly manicured was now chipped and cracked.

No connection, her phone announced. She couldn't call anyone.

She laughed, great loud laughs that shook her whole body. It ended with a fit of coughing. The day had started so well, it had been supposed to be happy. Now nothing seemed right anymore and she couldn't find her father anywhere.

How long would it take for them to dig her out? She wondered. Could she last that long? It was an enormous building.

Above her head, she heard a creak, she looked up, there above her head a large piece of concrete was tipping over.

Right over her.

All she could seem to do was scream.

_1881 November 25, Paris, France_

"Christine, I must thank you!" Emily cooed as she ran over the white cotton with her hand. Next to it there was a small amount of lace. There was a generous amount, enough to create a beautiful gown. Which was precisely what Christine intended to do.

"Yes dear," Christine gently placed her hands on the girls shoulder and began directing her to the stool. "Now please, it's time to get your measurements. We only have two weeks until the wedding. And we need to start as soon as possible."

Quickly, stepping onto the chair, Emily grinned ecstatically while Christine began helping her out of her everyday dress.

"Now I am not very good at sewing." Christine reminded her, while pulling out a measuring strip. "But I'll do my best."

"It's perfectly alright!" Emily smiled down at Christine, the dimple in her cheek deepening. "I did not think I'd get one. Any wedding dress is a gift from the almighty, really."

Christine wrapped the tape around Emily's waist, pulling it tight. She scribbled down the measurement on a piece of paper using a charcoal pencil.

There was a knock on the dorm door, "Who is it?" Emily called.

"Meg." A voice answered back.

"Come in, but be careful."

The door opened, and Meg slipped in. Her golden curls bounced as she walked smoothly across the floor. She cocked her head to one side. "What are you making?"

"A wedding dress!" Emily gushed. Her arms wrapped around herself and she began jumping up and down.

"Please be still darling." Christine said, having been in the middle of the measuring her arms.

Emily blushed and held out her arm, Christine pulled the tape across it and examined the number critically. Behind her the girls began to chat again.

"I though you would not get one, with the dressmaker being a cheat and all. Weren't you going to wear your blue one with the white ribbons?" Meg sat on the end of the nearest bed, letting her dancers costume spread out perfectly.

"Yes! Until Christine volunteered to pay for it!" Emily patted Christine's arm as she jotted down another measurement. Christine shrugged.

"I've known you since you were small darling." Christine said, then turned back to Emily and smiled. "I would do no less for my own daughter."

"That's so kind of you Christine." Meg clasped her hands together while Christine rolled up her sleeves. Despite it being in the middle of November, it was hot in the room. Likely because this particular dorm was near the kitchens, who had fires burning day and night.

"Arms up."

Emily held up her arms and smiled. "She got lace too. I can't believe what it must have cost her. Goodness knows how little I make."

"Well Christine makes more than we do, being our teacher, but she never spends it either. I declare, don't think she's spent more than a few francs for a ribbon in all the ten years she's been here. She must be practically rolling in money after all she's saved!"

"Not quite." Christine smiled and winked at Meg who in turn gave an even more exaggerated back. "But almost."

"Your truly the best teacher one could ask for." Emily murmured, letting her head drop. "It's more than I deserve after everything that I've done."

"Nevertheless." Christine cut in. "I want you to be happy in this wedding, and I want you to have something special to remind you of it.

"It's still so kind, more than I expected."

"Your welcome darling. I'm sure you'll be very happy together."

Emily bit her lip nervously, then asked. "Do you have any advice, anything I should know?"

"I've never been married you know." Christine reminded her.

Meg jumped up from her seat and began running her hands along the cloth, sighing dramatically from the whiteness of the cloth. "You did live with your father for years and years though. She said, "And that is practically the same thing, save that you are not married and are family."

Christine laughed, her head arching up as it shook her body. "Oh darling, I think that it is very different indeed, but perhaps I do have some advice to give." She began rolling the tape up, looking thoughtfully at Emily.

"Men largely do not enjoy talking, so do not treat him as if he were your girlfriend and to babble away with you. I remember I used to chat away with my father for hours at a time, he told me later that he was bored to tears! I feel sorry for what he must have suffered because of my foolish chatter."

Emily nodded, but pressed her lips together doubtfully, stepping down from the stool to retrieve her dress and petticoats. "I find it rather hard to believe you have ever spent hours talking."

Christine smiled and swept up the stool to place it under the bed again. "I was once young as well. Perhaps you should ask some of the seamstresses, many of them are married and would have better advice than I."

Meg grinned as Emily turned to her and opened her mouth. "Don't ask me for advice! Mother never lets a boy look at me, let alone court one."

"Glad of that I am too darling." Christine remarked, she placed the measuring tape on the table and turned to face her. "I do not think there are many men who would learn to appreciate your free spirit."

"Perhaps that is the reason why you are not married Christine." Emily countered. "If someone where to ask me, I would say that most men would be hard pressed to keep up with your wit and your intelligence."

"Perhaps so." Christine raised an eyebrow. "I always thought it was because of my lack of subtlety."

A knock resounded at the door, prompting Christine to call out an invitation. Once inside, a ballet girl in a beautiful pink costume limped inside, on her right a similar dressed dancer supported her, the first dancers right ankle was wrapped in cloth. Emily gasped.

Meg swore she hopped down, making every ballerina in the room stare at her in shock.

"Meg, don't say such things." Christine said sharply. "Swearing never helped anything."

The pink dancers face turned pale as the second dancer carefully helped her on the bed, she turned to Christine. "Madame Giry says she can dance again in a few days. But there is no understudy to take her place and Louis needs more practicing. Madame is furious, he dropped her, see. Now our lead-" She gestured the the pale pink dancer. "Can't dance."

Christine had already crouched beside the injured girl and carefully tested her foot. It was sprained, nothing serious but she supposed it hurt. Gently she patted the girls knee. "It will heal before the performance, there is nothing to worry about."

"She's a bricky one alright." The second dancer said with a grin. "She just needs a few minutes to remember."

"Who's going to take her place?" Meg wondered, "No one has learned the dance but Madame Giry and the lead. She does not have a backup dancer."

"I know the steps." Christine said slowly. "I daresay that I could give Louis some practice."

Meg turned the Christine and squealed. "I forget that you help mama plan the choreography." She wrapped her arms around Christine and squeezed. "You have saved us again!"

"Don't get too excited!" Christine warned, stumbling back a little at the force of the affection. "It's been quite some time since I've dance with a partner, or any routine at all."

"You would do that for me?" A quiet voice murmured behind Christine. She turned to find the pink ballet girl staring at her in wonder.

"For you and Louis." Christine corrected gently. "You rest and get well. Your first performance is only a weeks away."


	2. Chapter 2

_1881, November 25, Paris, France_

"I cannot apologize enough." Louis said as Christine carefully pulled her ribbon around her ankle. "Quite honestly, I don't know what happened."

"You need to work up your muscle strength, that's what happened." Christine said sharply, she gave the ribbon an extra tug. "You haven't been showing up to practices and now someone is suffering for it."

He hung his head, he couldn't have been older than twenty, Christine softened. "Please, you have a little time, you can still have your part, but only if you work hard."

"Yes Mademoiselle Christine." He muttered, his dark eyes looked downwards in shame.

"Cheer up darling. You're really a wonderful dancer." Christine held out both her hands, giving them an extra flick dramatically. "Now be a gentleman and help me up please."

He grabbed her hands and pulled her up, Christine briefly went on point for a few moments, feeling the new shoes, and sank back down again.

"The shoes are just in from Italy." A sharp voice called. "They are a new design."

Christine turned to see Madame Giry, in her typical black dress. Her eyes looked at Christine approvingly in the improvised costume. "If you need an old pair, feel free to ask. Most of the girls still are not used to them."

Christine jumped on her toes and curtsied. "They are _parfait _Madame." She murmured. "They support my feet wonderfully."

The women gave an approving nod, then her eyes flicked to Louis. "See that you don't drop her too!" She barked. "I can't lose my best Ballerina."

Louis nodded vigorously before giving his own bow. "Of course Madame Giry."

"Let's begin." Giry waved a hand at the seated pianist in the corner of the room. "Warm up music please."

"Argh." Christine muttered as she rubbed her feet gently.

"It hurts?"

Christine looked up to see Meg, she nodded grimly. "I admit, this is harder than I anticipated. Once," She gestured to the rehearsal room. "this would have been nothing."

"You are really doing very well." Meg looked at Christine's feet anxiously. "Better than I thought you would."

"I'm greatly enjoying myself, despite the bruises." Christine chuckled, then yawned, her eyes blinking away her weariness. "Goodness, it's been years and years since I've done a full dance rehearsal before. I missed it."

The day had been extremely busy. Louis did not drop her once, but he was rather clumsy with the choreography and they had to keep stopping to fine tune it. Christine thought she had managed rather well, but she had appreciated supper more than she cared to admit. After supper they had moved to the stage, practicing dancing across the wide stage. They were finally done.

Meg smiled, her blue eyes sparkled in the lamp light. "I could not imagine going years without dancing." She leaned forward, an eager grin splashed across her face. "Christine, how do you dance so well on those new shoes? I've been struggling with them myself-"

"Meg!" Madame Giry called to her from the stage exit. "To bed! We have a long day tomorrow."

Meg wilted slightly, but she got up and skipped across the room while waving goodbye to Christine.

Christine laughed and waved back. Slowly she sat back, the crate shifted forward, letting her comfortably lean back again the stone wall. Her eyes dropped as she watched everyone chatter and move about, soon, they would all leave. Soon she would be alone.

Suddenly she felt tired, she stood abruptly and walked to her dressing room. Once there, she stretched and sat down on a carpeted chair. She unlaced her shoes and glancing at the table beside, she noticed a book she had started. Little Women, it was called. She lit a candle, pulled it close to her, and began to read while listening to the chatter outside.

Slowly the book fell closed in her lap, and her head nodded as she fell asleep.

She woke in a panic, it was startlingly cold, she shivered in the thin costume she wore. The candle beside her had gone out.

As she didn't have another one, her feet searched the floor for her ballet slippers. Once she found them Christine ran down the hallways, shivering and watching her breath make white clouds. She was going to be late!

She paused at the stage to catch her breath, feeling rather foolish, she reached up and brushed some stray bits of hair out of her way.

"You are late."

Christine spun, calming her breaths as a smile spread across her face.

Erik stood in the wings of the stage, no doubt he had lit the candles for when she woke up. The man didn't seem at all afraid of the building burning down.

Then, she cursed herself, late to a singing lesson for the first time in ten years. All because she had fallen asleep, shameful.

She gave a graceful curtsy, lifting the edges of her dress smoothly and bowed her head. "Forgive me." She voiced. "I suppose that ten years of punctuality is not an excuse for one tardy, but perhaps," she looked up and let him see her twinkling eyes, "it might soften the blow?"

He stepped onstage, the candlelight surrounding him, revealing his terrifying height, his black cloak, his cold eyes; and a mask, black today, with swirling golden curls around the chin, mouth and eyes. It covered his whole face. Which was odd, recently he had started wearing masks that let his mouth show. It had been a refreshing change.

"I believe we can excuse your tardiness for today." He gave a short bow, a hand drew out from the silky fabric and gestured gently to offstage. "But if you wish...?"

Christine walked across the the stage, till only a few feet separated them. She stared into the dark sockets that his mask made, no matter how much light there was, she could never see his eyes.

"Perhaps in a moment." She murmured, and rubbed her arms. "I shall need to fetch my coat, I want to be as warm as possible. Boreas has done his job well I'm afraid." Here she winked, letting him in on her reference to the lore. "

"Then I shall escort you." Erik bowed again,

Walking to her dressing room, Christine shivered and wished again that cold December wasn't just around the corner. During the day, the Opera House stayed fairly warm, but at night with no one to heat it, it was not much better than the outside.

"You are well, I hope?"

Christine started, forced herself out of her thoughts and turned to Erik to give him a smile. "Yes, and you?

"Quite amiable, thank you."

"Oh, please." Christine gave out a chuckle. "You always have something to complain about. What happened today? Did Madame Carlotta screech longer than usual, or were the dancers off? Which-" she added, "would be an insult to me since I just spent five hours practicing that dance."

Erik chuckled, but did not speak. Christine looked at him for a moment, giving him a sly look from his polished black shoes to his dark mask.

"You are uncharacteristically quiet today."

"I am thinking."

"Well," Christine halted, for here was her door. "I shall investigate that in a few moments."

She opened the door and slipped inside. A single candle burned inside, it made her chuckle at Erik's thoughtfulness. How he had managed it she didn't know.

For a moment she entertained the idea of getting completely undressed and getting into her clothes, but she decided eventually that it would take too long, and slipped on her coat. She blew out the candle while pocketing her book.

It took her a little longer to find her way to the door, where outside Erik surly waited patiently. She opened the door.

"Now what are you thinking?" She stepped outside and looked up into the holes of his mask. "If it's enough to make you silent, it must be serious indeed."

He hesitated while hold out a hand carefully, Christine took it as they walked back down the hallway.

His hand was much larger than hers, but very slim, it closed around her short fingers easily. Christine yawned, and was suddenly grateful for the nap she had taken.

"Are you going to tell me what you were thinking or not?"

Erik sighed, but didn't hesitate in his long strides. "You are the only one who must ask for a pardon."

"Hmm?"

"I believe I have forgotten your music for today."

"Ah. Well, we can review today, or perhaps we can simply discuss the art and it's history." Christine halted mid-step, and let a sly smile fill her face. "Or perhaps..."

Erik, turned to face her. Despite the mask, she could easily imagine him quirking an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Perhaps it is time for me to pay you back for these exceedingly expensive lessons you have been giving me this past decade." Christine smiled. "Voice lessons are not for the cheap, after all."

Erik shook his head, his lifted his hands defensively. "They are a gift, not meant to be repaid."

"Then I will give you a gift as well." Christine raised her slippers. "I will teach you to dance."

Erik's hands dropped from the air, and for a long moment he didn't speak. His mask remained expressionless, but his lack of a prepared answer made Christine sure she had surprised him.

"Don't worry," Christine assured him after a few moments. "I won't force you to pitter on your toes across a stage like a ballerina. But there are other ways to contribute to a dance. Waltzing, for instance, or perhaps a free style."

She slipped her hand into his, and gently pulled him towards the stage. "Come, I swear I shall make it entertaining."

"And what gave you inspiration for this activity?" Erik's normally smooth voice cracked mid sentence. "I cannot think why you should only come to this conclusion now."

"Does it matter where it came from?" Christine laughed, and Erik finally began to walk with her again. "I have it now, and I wish to share it with you. Dancing it very close to my heart, it is the expression of emotion through the body. It was what I grew up learning, even before singing. Though-" she squeezed his hand. "singing will always be closer to my heart."

They were back at the stage now, and Christine quickly began warming up. Almost literally at this point, her breath was still making puffs in the air.

When she finished she asked Erik, "Is there anything you wish to learn specifically?"

"I think that you had best decide that, you know more about this than I."

"Very well." She paused, then gave a curtsy. "What is the extent of your knowledge on the famous waltz?"

"I-" Erik paused, Christine thought she detected a bit of shame in his voice. "I know the theory but have never tested it."

"Excellent." Christine held out her hands. "If you would be a gentleman, please?"


	3. Chapter 3

Erik's gloved hands grasped hers, Christine placed one at her waist and held the other firmly.

"Do you see the box?" She asked. "Along with the 1, 2, 3, etc?"

He nodded, hands tight around hers.

"Very well, I'll go backwards first. One, two, three, begin."

Christine stepped backwards, and Erik's foot swiftly followed. She continued to count out loud as they slowly made their way across the room.

Erik managed surprisingly well, Christine noted as they waltzed slowly around the stage. He was hardly a star dancer but she suspected it was only a matter of a lack of practice.

"It's easier if you don't look at your feet." She advised at one moment, Erik nodded and locked his eyes at the space above her head. She heard him counting as well under his breath.

Christine's skillful guided his clumsy ones and soon he was dancing quite well. She pulled away after a few minutes and curtsied, Erik returned a short bow.

"Not so bad once you get the hang of it?" Christine said, "You really did quite well. I'm impressed."

"Who taught you to waltz so well?" Erik asked. "You do it as well as any noble. I have never seen you waltz before."

"My father taught me." Christine answered. "We used to dance all the time. I still do, sometimes, with The Girls." The Girls were all the ballet dancers, whom with Christine made a special point of being on good terms with all of them, as difficult as it was sometimes.

"No doubt so that they can impressive their lovers." Erik said dryly, giving an exasperated sigh.

"Hilarious." Christine shot right back. "Most are just curious. Though many love to imagine themselves as a lady in a ball I'm sure. But then, who wouldn't?"

"Forgive me for disagreeing. But I have no interests in picturing myself in a full gown and corset, dancing across the floor with an eligible gentlemen."

Christine choked, trying to halt her laughter. "Allow me to clarify, what _young women_ wouldn't like to imagine themselves in a ball." She grinned. "Dreams that I find rather nice, quite honestly." Christine lamented, setting a hand on her hip. "Though I've heard that while the dancing may be pleasant, they are very hot and the conversation is dull unless you happen to stumble upon a rare quick witted gentlemen or lady."

"And you have formed these opinions on your own experience." Erik said, she could practically see the quirked eyebrow beneath the mask.

"So I have heard." Christine again corrected.

"You have never been to a ball." Erik said slowly, as if to confirm the fact.

"No, I have not." Christine said, then shrugged. "No great loss, I'm sure. Now here-" She held out her hands. "We have talked long enough, let us try again."

Erik took her hands, and continued to count under his breath as they moved across the stage.

"Christine." He asked abruptly, and they danced.

"Hmm?"

"I wish to apologize again for neglecting to fetch the music for our lessons."

Christine smiled, "It is of no great importance. My voice will not vanish overnight." her head tilted to the side. "You seem greatly troubled by it. Might I ask why you forgot it?"

Erik hesitated, he misstepped, but Christine righted the dance quickly. "I have been composing an Opera." He admitted.

"Oh!" Christine laughed, but inside she felt a moment of panic. "That's wonderful."

"I have been writing for quite some time. Over a decade, I stopped work on it quite some time ago." Erik stared directly into hers. "I found a new muse recently."

Christine blinked, then grinned and looked down at their moving feet. "And so you were swept up in the music. Like you always were?"

"And missed the time." He finished.

"I see." Christine smiled. "It's not a great loss. After all, we are now having a dancing lesson."

"Whether that is a gain, small or not, is yet to be seen."

That made her laugh too. "You are doing well." She assured him. "And it is my own opinion that everyone must be able to, at the very least, waltz."

He didn't reply for a time, Christine focused on guiding him through the steps. Once or twice she thought she heard something. If they were found, it would be rather awkward to explain why she was escorted with a masked man.

"Would you?" He asked abruptly.

"Would I what?" Christine looked up.

"Like to go to a ball?"

"Hm." Christine smiled. "Well, yes. For the experience, strictly, of course."

"Perhaps I could arrange it." Erik said vaguely.

"Would you?" Christine let the smile on her face spread wider. "That would be wonderful."

They halted dancing again, Christine sighed and stared out at the empty theater. When was the last time she had been on stage like this.

Papa-

Father had-

Christine's breath caught.

_Screaming._

_Blood spattered all over the ground._

_A golden locket swinging on her chest as the roof fell in._

_"Christine, go!" Her father pushed her away. "Get out."_

_"Papa! I won't leave you!"_

_"Christine!"_

"Christine." Erik's hands on her shoulder gently shook her. "Christine, is something wrong?" The urgency in his voice startled her.

Christine blinked, slowly staring at the world around her. She grasped Erik's hands and pulled them into her own. "I am quite alright." She murmured. "I was just remembering."

"You seemed rather lost." Erik pulled one hand up to touch her face. "Are you-"

He froze.

In mere moments, he grasped Christine by the waist and pulled her under his protective dark cloak. There, pressed against his chest he moved into the shadows of the wings, Christine blinked at the sudden darkness, grasped Erik's firm arm around her waist with her hands, then struggled to see what was happening through the thick folds of his cloak.

"Come out ghost!" A slurred voice called out. "I know you're there, and that pretty ballet rat too."

Christine heard Erik curse quietly under his breath. In truth, she felt rather like swearing herself, Joseph Buquet was a menace, always drunk always making trouble. The only reason he was kept was because he was the only one brave enough to descend into the lower cellars and the farthest reaches of the Opera to do necessary work. He alone seemed unafraid of the Phantom.

Unfortunately that came with it's own set of problems for Erik.

"Come out, come out ghosty. Share the pretty rat will you? S'not fair to keep it to yourself" His rough and rather slurred voice echoed throughout the auditorium.

Erik's arm around her waist stiffened. Christine desperately hoped that eventually Buquet's drunken mind would become tired with hunting fleeting ghosts and leave. She grew rather tired with the view of the inside of Erik's cloak, gently she tugged it, implying that she wanted to see.

Erik shifted his cloak, carefully allowing her a view of the stage. Christine peered towards it carefully. There stood the drunken man, turning round the stage unsteadily.

She froze as well.

In Buquet's hand there was a large knife, Christine suddenly was fearful. Buquet was always bragging how he would catch the ghost one day, but she had never thought he would try to capture a ghost with a knife, of all things.

Which, of course, only made her more worried, because despite Erik's many skills, transparency was not one of them, and if he was hurt...

_Her father's eyes losing their life and joy, blood trickling from his wound._

Christine closed her eyes and let out her breath slowly, but silently.

_That won't happen here_, she told herself, _Erik is perfectly capable of defending himself. _Instinctively, she reached into the pocket of her dress, only to realize she was still wearing her ballet skirt. She inwardly sighed.

Of all the days to leave her gun in her room.

Her heart was pounding, she noticed. Beating like a drum against her chest, fearful of what would happen if he found them, with Erik's chest right up against her back, she imagined that through the folds of fine cloth she could feel Erik's heart beating as fast.

"Christine." Erik's voice whispered quietly in her ear, causing Christine to start before settling in his grasp again. "If he sees us I want you to run, do you understand?"

Run? Of course, to her room to fetch her weapon and then all the way back, that was what she would do. She slowly nodded, as to not catch the attention of their enemy.

"Come on Phantom. Not man enough to fight?" Buquet goaded.

_Is he mad?_

"Even the dogs are braver than you."

Christine noted Erik's sudden intake of breath and felt a stream of fear go down her spine. Despite his continued silence, she felt that Buquet was having more of an effect on Erik than he knew.

Some part of her reached out for his unused hand, she found it beneath the cloak, clenched tighter than a sailors knot. Carefully she tapped it, it opened obligingly and she held his hand, carefully stroking his gloved palm with her thumb, trying to calm him, keep him rational.

_Pay no mind to him_. She thought, wishing she could somehow send them to Erik's complex and quick moving mind._ He isn't worth your time._

Then finally. Finally! Joseph Boquet seemed to tire, gave one last suspicious glance, and wandered off the stage, muttering darkly about Opera Ghosts.

When his footsteps and echoing comments disappear, Christine gave out a long breath, relief filling her like sunlight on a summer day. "That was rather unexpected." She whispered, her hand slipping away from Erik's.

"He has been braver of late." Erik said, sounding rather like he was gritting his teeth. "Something needs to be done."

"He isn't worth your time." Christine said, turning to comfort him, before she realized that his arm around her waist was still keeping her pressed tightly to his back.

"He wastes far too much of it." Erik agreed, but not in the way she'd hoped.

Christine sighed, but didn't comment, she placed both her hands on his arm and gently pushed his arm away. To her dismay, it didn't budge.

"The man is more trouble than he's worth. He had better reign himself in-" Erik chuckled darkly. "There will be consequences."

Christine pursed her lips together, Buquet was perhaps one of the people she despised. It was hard trying to figure out whether she wanted Erik's full fury to be released on him or not.

"Perhaps we had best leave." Erik sighed.

"I can't go anywhere with your arm around me like this." Christine said, letting a little of her exasperation show through her voice. "Though I do appreciate the protection."

She twisted her head round to find him looking down at her, once again she stared into the black sockets of his mask. Once again, he stayed silent for an uncharacteristic amount of time.

"Apologies." He murmured, his arm slid from her waist slowly.

"It's hardly a sin with what happened." Christine waved a hand as she stepped away from him, her eyes glanced round for any signs of the drunk ghost hunter. "Don't worry about it."

**Pensez-a-Erik: Thanks for the review! And I'm glad you enjoy my story. Yeah, no kisses yet, but that will change by the end. :) And we will find out what that mysterious beginning means.**


	4. Chapter 4

"Who's coming over for dinner?" Christine asked while mixing her bowl of ingredients together, her arm stiff after beating the last dish for three long minutes.

"Hmm?" Madame Giry looked up from her cutting board. "Oh. Nadir Kahn."

"Really?" Christine gave a particularly violent turn and flung a small amount of white powder in her face. She sneezed, and grinned at Madame Giry. "He seems rather fond of you."

"He wants to question me, you know how nosy he is." Madame Giry said stiffly, turning back to her cutting. "Once you're finished with that, bring out the dinner plates and set the table."

Normally, after finishing her day at the Opera House, Christine retired to her own comfortable, but small apartment. She would sit back, eat a plain dinner and go to bed, perhaps with some reading in between. On Sundays, however, There wasn't any practice in the Opera house on the Holy day, except sometimes during the few weeks right before the production. On her free Sunday evenings Christine normally visited the Giry's. They would talk, mend and then cook a dinner together.

Meg bounded down the stairs, her room being the attic, she wore nothing but her sleeping gown and a robe. Her hair was in a braid, frizzing and coming apart. The look was comical, and it made Christine smile. "Mother!" She cried. "Mother there's a man coming, Monsieur Kahn I think. Why-"

"He practically invited himself over, the impertinent man." Madame Giry informed Meg. "Now put on your Sunday dress and-" Meg bounded up the stairs again. "and pull up your hair!" Madame Giry shouted after her.

"Yes mother!" Meg called back down.

Christine chuckled, then carefully began pouring out her batter in a pan on the counter. While watching the goopy substance ooze slowly onto the pan, it occurred to her it would need an hour to cook. "He seems awfully early." She noted. "Dinner won't be ready for hours."

"I told you, he invited himself over, and this is the time he wanted to come." Giry sighed and went back to cutting. Christine nodded and shoved the pan into the stove, checking the fire level as she did so.

A polite knock echoed through the door, Christine brush her hands off on her apron and moved to answer it but before she could Madame Giry brushed by her in her quick steps. Christine shrugged and began to pull out the dishes from the cupboards.

"Monsieur Kahn, welcome." Christine heard from the doorway while she grasped some of the plates.

"Ah! Annottiete, you look lovely." Nadir's warm voice spread through the house.

"Thank you." Madame Giry answered, her voice as rigid as the wood she tread on.

Nadir stepped into the kitchen, fully dressed in a bow tie and suit, with a bottle of what looked like wine under his arm. Madame Giry followed behind him, looking rather embarrassed.

"Dinner is not ready." She informed the Persian.

He smiled gaily and bowed to Christine, then turned back to Madame Giry, green eyes twinkling. "That is quite all right, I'll wait."

Christine felt a smile spreading on her face and walked past them quickly with the plates to hide it. In the dining room she strained her ears to hear the pair in the kitchen.

"Thank you for inviting me over."

"You invited yourself over."

"What nonsense. I offered and you accepted."

"Custom states that the owner of the household invites guests. Not the guests themselves."

Nadir chuckled. "That's why I brought the wine, to make up for my rude behavior. It's some of the best in Paris I assure you, I think we will all greatly enjoy it."

"Meg is not allowed heavy alcohol yet, and Christine does not drink."

"More for the both of us then."

The "humph" that followed made Christine chuckle, she returned to the kitchen to fetch the silverware. Madame Giry was pouring the sliced vegetables into a pot, which was boiling on the stove already. Nadir Kahn leaned casually against the counter, watching her with a fond smile on his face.

The scene made Christine's heart wrench, Nadir often reminded her of her own father. Though Nadir was less scatter brained than the father she remembered from so long ago, the easy laugh and the warm voice was all too familiar to her.

"Excuse me Monsieur Kahn, you are leaning against the silverware." Christine informed him.

"Do you have dinner often here?" He asked, stepping aside and his eyes twinkling at her. She smiled at him, finished counting the spoons, and nodded.

"Every Sunday." She shut the drawer and walked out of the room.

Meg's feet thumped down the stairs, running past Christine with the silverware into the kitchen again, she had her blue dress on with ribbon trim. Christine remembered it had taken her and Madame Giry a month to sew. That had been six months ago, but already her ankles were peeking out from beneath the lining. Christine often remarked Meg grew like a weed.

Meg's hair up in some hairstyle that apparently was taking a turn, Christine could tell that Madame Giry didn't like it, but didn't comment on it either. "Nadir!" Meg cried, delighted by his appearance despite knowing he was coming. "How are you?" She gave a graceful curtsy.

Nadir returned a short bow. "Quite well Margaret."

"Oh, just call Meg. Everyone does, even mother and she's the most proper person I know."

Another snort from Madame Giry.

Dinner was ready in a few hours, candles gracing the table with their soft light, and dinner ready with the dishes steaming slightly.

Christine sat in her seat, apron left it the kitchen, she was wearing her own Sunday best. A green dress with red speckles, with buttons that matched.

It was getting a little worn, she noticed, she'd had it for years and worn it to every special occasion so far. She would be sad to see it go. She smiled to herself, new dresses where needed on all sides this season.

Madame Giry poured Nadir and herself a glass of the wine, she set the bottle on the table and filled Meg and Christine's cup with some good tea. Once that was done, Giry murmured a prayer and they began to eat.

Meg filled the dinner with pleasant chatter, mostly about the other ballet dancers and what she had read in the newest fashion articles. Christine asked a few questions once in a while, and Nadir showing a surprising amount of interest in the latest hairstyles. Madame Giry sat quietly, focusing solely on her food.

"Did you know that Emily's getting married?" Meg asked Nadir. "Christine just bought the fabric for her dress. She and mother just finished cutting out the fabric, we're going to bast it after dinner."

"Yes I heard about young Emily's good news, Adam, is the name of the fellow she's marrying, correct?" Nadir took a sip from his glass.

"Oh yes." Meg nodded. "Half the girls in the troupe like him, he's very good looking. But he's got eyes only for Emily, he's loved her for years."

"He just got a job down by the docks, managing the loading and unloading of ships." Christine informed Nadir. "He's very excited, it pays mcuh more than being a stage hand does."

Nadir nodded, cutting his food firmly. "I know, he's a good man. And a good match for Emily too, someone grounded and practical for her."

"Oh yes." Meg smiled, pushing her neglected food around her plate. "She's a hopeless romantic, you know those stories Christine used to tell us? Well, when she was little, her favorite one was where a rich man fell in love with a common women, she used to ask for it over and over. She always said she'd marry a prince, or a duke. But-"

"But we are all glad she has become sensible and has settled down." Madame Giry said firmly.

"Yes. You know, my favorite story that she told us was about some boy named Harry something or other, he went to a school for magic." Her lightly freckled nose wrinkled. "I don't think we ever quite finished that one."

Christine focused on her corn bread, carefully lathering butter on.

"Ah, I remember those." Nadir said cheerfully. "I used to listen with those as well, on occasion. Wasn't there one about a small man with a ring? I greatly enjoyed that."

"They're all real books you know." Christine said softly. "I didn't make any of them up."

"Well I can't find that harry book anywhere!" Meg said. "I've looked in a dozen book magazines and all the book shops in Paris. No one seems to know what it is."

"It is an American book, and it was never very popular." Christine lied, and spread honey on her bread. "I don't have my copy anymore."

"Well, you probably told it better than it really was anyway. You're a good story teller Christine." Meg smiled warmly, and popped a spoonful of peas in her mouth. "I tried reading that book you like, Little Women, was it? But it was too long and boring. But when you read it, it's exciting, and I can see it perfectly in my mind." She shrugged.

Christine smiled. "I was an actress for many years." Then she silently scolded herself.

"You were?" Nadir leaned foreword. "Where?"

"In America, for a time. I enjoyed it." Christine smiled, as if embarrassed. "But I don't like talking about it."

Meg leaned foreword, her eyes sparkling with the new piece of information. "Why? Did something terrible happen while you where there? Why didn't you sign up for the chorus or something, I'm sure-"

"Meg. We do not pry into other peoples lives." Madame Giry said sharply. "You would do well to leave it alone."

Meg glanced at her mother and sighed, she looked down at her peas and stuffed a spoonful in her mouth angrily.

Christine looked up to her right, and saw Nadir staring at her. Green eyes narrowing as she met them, Christine felt her stomach twist.

He suspected much, she knew. But this was once part of her life she did not want him prying into. There was only one way to stop him from prying further later, and that was to give him the information he wanted, or at least what he thought he wanted.

"I worked at a small theatre in America, Monsieur." She explained quietly. "I was never a lead, and I was only a side character once. Mostly I was in the background. But-" she grinned. "I do take pride in what I did."

Meg slumped back in disappointment. "I wish you were our lead lady."

Christine shrugged. "Likely, it will never happen."


	5. Chapter 5

Christine rose from her bed, gasping with fear, the ceiling had been caving in on her.

Ten minutes later, she still hadn't calmed down, it was only after that she remembered her breathing exercises and implemented them. Soon after her beating heart settled, she sighed and laid back down uncomfortably in her bed. It was a thin hard mattress, a far cry from what she had used to have. But feather mattresses were expensive, and she couldn't afford one. No matter what the ballet girls said.

In another fifteen minute she realized she wasn't going back to sleep, so she sat up and fumbled in the dark for her lamp. She found it on the shelf next to her bed, and quickly found the matches next to it.

After it was lit, it filled the small space that she called her bedroom.

The apartment she rented was a small one room establishment. Respectable, but hardly luxurious. She had created a bedroom by pushing her bed right up towards the corner of the room where a closet lay on her left side, then directly on her right she had placed two shelves that spanned her bed. They were filled with 5 cent second hand books she had bought over the years. A few brand new books covered the shelf, she allowed herself a fully priced book once a year on her birthday.

There was a small space where her lamp was, it had cost her much more than she wanted, but she thought it safer than a candle. Especially since she spent so much time reading.

Now she yawned, blinking into the darkness, she pushed aside the curtain that led to her closet and picked through her clothes, pulling out a stiff white button up shirt and a brown skirt that just allowed her toes to peak out. She scrambled out of bed, teeth chattering in the cold.

She pulled off her night gown and pulled on her clothes. She folded the nightgown and placed it at the end of her bed. While she did so she pulled out her lamp and checked a small clock on the shelf that Madame Giry had given her several years ago, it was five in the morning. An hour before she usually woke up.

She sighed and turned to the rest of her apartment. There was a small stove, a cupboard, a padded chair and table. Draped on the chair lay a white dress, waiting to be stitched together.

It was a small room, barely ten by ten, she'd measured. It had no window and was a rather depressing box.

There were some cheerful pictures on the wall that fought the darkness. Christine walked to a picture on the wall, lifting up the lamp to gaze at it fondly. It was Madame Giry, Christine and Meg, sitting firmly on a couch. It had been taken during her first year in Paris ten years ago. During that time she had been hopelessly lost, and the steady home of Madame Giry had meant everything to her.

The women had taught Christine to knit and sew and cook and clean. In return, Christine had given Meg, at the time barely eight, lessons in mathematics and reading. She had continued doing so up until about three years ago, Meg had had no more interest in formal schooling. And her mother agreed that she was better learned than most ballet girls ever would be.

Still, Christine sometimes still taught the occasional lesson, normally when Meg was insatiably curious about some topic.

After a year in the City of Love she had felt ready to move out, but Sunday dinners at the Giry's had always been welcome to her.

It took Christine half an hour to finish getting ready, consisting of unbraiding and brushing her hair, finding a pair of socks that didn't have ridiculously large holes and squeezing her feet in her almost too small second hand shoes.

She ate some bread and cheese for breakfast, she finished with an apple while she read. Then she sat down on her chair and began sewing along the pins of the dress. It was going to be a beautiful dress, and it had taken a large portion of her savings. Perhaps it had been foolhardy, Madame Giry had scolded her purchase, stating that if anything happened to her wages, she would become homeless.

But she had need to do something to cheer Emily up, this marriage meant so much to her, and Christine had desperately wanted something for her to keep.

It hadn't had been as foolhardy as Madame Giry accused, she had been in that apartment for nine years, always paying on time, her landlady was a kind but strict women. Christine knew if anything serious happened she would allowed Christine a few months free rent to get back on her feet.

Her food was was more expensive than most family's, she always tried to have a large range of foods. However, her crochet work was well known around the marketplace, if worst came to the worst, she could trade her needlework for food.

All this had ran through her head as she had paid the sum for Emily's dress, the final price had made her hesitate, but she had gotten it down quite a bit by throwing out the lace, opting to use some she had made a year back, it wasn't as fine as the stuff she had refused, but it was nice enough work.

Christine kept one eye on the clock as she sewed carefully, at half past six she carefully folded the dress and stored it in a carpet bag with a lunch wrapped in brown paper. She donned a simple felt hat and coat and walked briskly out into the stairwell of her apartment building.

The half hour walk reddened Christine's cheeks, her breath making clouds the cold air. Beside her people rushed passed, cheeks flushed and obviously in a hurry to get to work.

Christine arrived at the Opera house at seven, one of the cleaning ladies let her in. After thanking her gratefully, Christine walked slowly towards her dressing room, and thought dryly that she never really used it for dressing.

She passed Madame Giry in the hall, glaring at the world and shaking her head, she winced at Christine's greeting.

"Maybe you shouldn't have had four glasses of wine." Christine commented, giving her an exasperated look.

"The man kept on pouring." Giry grumbled. "I need you to take the lead dancer again."

"I'll be there." Christine promised.

Rehearsal was rather strained, Madame Giry was more picky than ever in her hangover and even snapped a few times at Christine, who normally escaped unscathed.

Meg took it well, but her friends grumbled and whined at being corrected again and again. Surprisingly, they made quite a lot of progress. Even when suffering from a hangover, Madame Giry was nothing but efficient.

At lunchtime, she had cooled down enough that Christine felt safe enough to bring her a cup of coffee in her office. While the middle aged women drank it, she apologized.

"It wasn't fair to you." She admitted gruffly, sipping the dark stuff.

"I was off." Christine admitted.

"Yes, but you haven't been practicing for two months." Madame Giry sighed and drained the cup. "I've been hard on everyone." She admitted grimly.

"We've made a lot of progress though." Christine reminded her, then she grinned. "Listen, everyone knows you drank too much last night because of Meg."

Madame Giry groaned. "Oh, sweet girl, can she keep nothing quiet?"

"This might work in our favor." Christine reminded her. "Everyone knows you've got a hangover, so they'll excuse your behavior. What they don't know is that you're feeling better now, and ever since you got snappy we've been improving faster."

"So I continue my atrocious behavior for the rest of the day." Madame Giry smiled. "Yes, that does sound nice."

And so, snappish and unpleased she remained for the rest of the day. Soon the entire ballet troupe was dancing in tip top form, doing their best to please their terrifying teacher.

When the day was over, everyone left feeling relieved, but Christine felt that Madame Giry was satisfied.

It took an hour for the Opera House to clear up, and when it did, Christine breathed a sigh of relief.

It took all of ten minutes for Erik to appear, dressed exactly as before, save that his mask was a dull white, and it allowed his thin mouth to grace her vision.

"Your music." He said, thin gloved hand holding it out to her.

Christine took it, and she looked it over quickly.

"I assume you have not seen it before?" He asked. "It is a rather unknown treasure."

Christi shook her head, and looked through more of the song as they walked to the practice rooms that the rest of the singers occupied by day.

Once inside she sang with great vigilance her warm ups, then jumped into the song headfirst, Erik's hands gracefully sliding over the piano along with her.

When she had finished the song for the first time, she waited for the customary critique from Erik. To her surprise, none came. She glanced at him, and found him staring at the piano keys, silently fingering some unknown song.

"Is there something wrong?" She asked gently, she placed her music down. "I was hardly perfect."

"You were nearly, had you gone through but three more times you would have been. My critique is no longer necessary." Erik pulled him fingers from the keys and curled them into a fist. "Is it not time you stopped pretending you needed my lessons? There is nothing more I can teach you."

Christine watched him, opened mouthed for a moment. "Excuse me?

He turned to face her, mouth set in a grim line. "Oh please." He murmured. "You have learned next to nothing for the past several years."

"And why is that a reason we should stop?" She asked, giving him a stern look. "I must admit, I have noticed you've given much more freedom and praise recently. However, should our lessons stop, I think that the joy I find in singing would greatly diminish. And you do have a talent for finding unknown but beautiful pieces."

His hands flew up in the air, his eyes rolled upwards. "Nevertheless... our lessons are no longer necessary."

"Does that mean we need to stop seeing each other?" Christine challenged, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

His hands froze in mid-air, then they fell into his lap.

"Are you so bent on being rid of me?" Christine asked slyly. "Truly, I thought we were friends, forgive me if I was wrong."

Erik sighed heavily. "I have obtained invitations." He replied.

"I-what?" Christine blinked at his sudden topic change.

"For the New Year ball." He glanced at her uneasily. "That is, if you wish to attend?"

"Of course." Christine laughed softly. "Did I not, in our last meeting understand, say that it was a fond wish of mine to attend one?"

"It should arrive tomorrow." He informed her.

"Are you going?" Christine asked.

"I-what?!" He turned to her, looking more than a little exasperated. "I don't follow."

"Did I not also say that they could be dangerously boring if you did not find the rare gentleman or lady?" She teased. "I will need some backup. Besides, if you say our lessons are at an end, then perhaps we should declare an official end to them and continue our friendship. Friends go to balls do they not?"

"I..." He sighed, and leaned down on the piano. "If you wish it." He conceded.

"I do." Christine replied softly. "It is a masquerade after all. You should have no trouble blending in."


	6. Chapter 6

**Author Note: While I can sew, I've only repaired clothes and made a few small items. Dresses are beyond me, if any dressmakers catch mistakes I made in describing the process please correct me and I will fix it.**

"I'm taking a week off." Christine announced during the next Sunday dinner at the Giry's. Madame Giry looked up from her soup and pursed her lips.

"And why, may I ask?" She questioned.

"Emily's dress is not even halfway finished and her wedding is a week away. We must finish her dress."

"She resigned yesterday!" Meg announced. "I saw her sign the papers, no one was surprised of course."

"She did it so we could have as much time as needed to fit the dress on her." Christine sighed and stirred her own soup. "I declare, I've never sewn a dress so fast with such urgency. I fear that I shall make a mistake and then have to take it apart and do it again. If so, it will not be done on time."

"Oh you can do it!" Meg exclaimed. "You're such a good sewer, much better then me. I would die having to sew a whole dress by myself."

"I'm at my wits end." Christine admitted. "I've half a mind to ask the seamstresses at the Opera if I can use their sewing machine."

Madame Giry patted her lips with her napkin and set it on the table. "Unlikely. They're in a hurry to finish all the costumes. Sometimes, I think that they have the hardest job of us all. They never truly rest, the poor dears."

"We buy some of our costumes." Meg reminded her.

"And yet they still must be changed, fitted, updated and stylized." Christine reminded her. "Costumes are serious business."

"Oh, what will happen if you don't finish the dress in time?" Meg moaned and stared at her swirling soap.

"She will wear that blue dress of her's like you said." Christine reminded her.

Meg looked up. "Doesn't she have a nice pink dress?" She asked. "I remember her showing it to me. She looks ever so much better in pink than in blue. Some Lord had given it to her as a present." Her eyes brightened. "I remember she thought she would marry some patron at the Opera House. Whatever happened to her and him? I got distracted by Jane's new beau."

Christine hesitated for a moment, she had hoped Meg would have forgotten the whole affair. "A passing fancy darling." She told her. "And the man Emily has now will love her for the rest of her days, not give her presents and leave her. In my mind, that is a better deal all round."

"Oh." Meg looked down again at her soul and sighed tragically. "I suppose it had to be."

"Meg, eat your soup while it's warm." Madame Giry told her. "I'm tired of your stirring and sighing."

"Christine's been stirring longer than I." Meg insisted innocently.

"Ah, but she eats it eventually." Madame Giry reminded her. Meg pouted and began sipping her soup.

"The waist is perfect, but the sleeves are too big." Christine carefully pinned the new places to sew. "Those will have to be taken care of before we add the lace."

The dress was coming along well enough, it had several creases and decorations of lace were already pinned to the collars and sleeves.

Emile looked over herself and nodded, obviously delighted at how it was coming along. "Look at the creases!" She giggled. "It's wonderful."

"It's plain." Christine reminded her. "Most wedding dresses have a train and a wedding veil."

"I don't care it's the most beautiful wedding dress in the world. I love it." Emily's eyes filled with tears and she gazed gratefully at Christine. "And I love you. The mother I never had."

Christine smiled back, feeling a little emotional herself. "When was your last meeting with Adam?"

Emily's eyes brightened. "Oh! Adam, yes." She blushed. "He's so good to me." She admitted. "Last time I saw him he gave me a rose he had bought, and he showed me the apartment we're going to rent. He promised me that all our children will go to school. Just like you wanted and-" here she blushed. "He kissed me."

"That's wonderful." Christine patted her arm. "I assume you're packing? You're moving your things on Wednesday."

"Yes. I am." Emily nodded and held out a wrist for Christine to pin. Christine pulled a pin out of the folds of her dress and worked it through the cloth.

"Christine?"

Christine glanced up at Emily. "Have you ever kissed a boy?" She asked shyly.

"Oh yes. I remember when I was sixteen I had a beau." Christine walked to Emily's other side and grapped her opposite wrist. "He was rather controlling. And he wasn't very good for me, I think. I broke it off after a time. Though it would have been better had I done it sooner."

Emily bit her lip. "So you haven't had a very good time with boys?"

"Of course I've had a good time with the boys!" Christine laughed. "I like boys, they've always been good friends of mine. Take Nadir, for example. He's a good friend, but I'm not romantically interested in him."

Emily nodded. "I see. I just-" She sighed. "Are you ever going to get married?"

"Perhaps-hold your arm a little higher dear. Thank you.- one day."

"But the right man has to ask." Emily finished.

"Yes."

"Do you have anyone in mind?" Emily asked innocently.

Christine rolled her eyes, inwardly, but didn't answer.

"You do don't you?" Emily observed shrewdly. "What's he like?"

"I don't believe you need to know." Christine swiftly pushed the pin in the sleeve and turned to the collar. "Do you want it a little lower? It's a little too close to your ears."

Emily wiggled her eyebrows at Christine. "You fancy someone! You! Christine Daae, the most practical and witty person I know."

"It is nothing you may concern yourself with."

"You can tell me! I may bit a bit of a gossip but I don't reveal my friend's secrets." Emily batted away Christine's hands, who were searching for the best way to pin down the collar. "What's he like?"

"Not nearly as questioning as you." Christine said, but her mouth twitched into a smile.

"Is he handsome?" Emily asked. "Does he know you?"

"Yes." Christine relented. "He does know me."

Emily squealed and grasped Christine's hands. "I knew it! No one could ever resist you."

"I never said that he was in love with me, good heavens." Christine pulled away. "Now do you want that collar lower or not?"

"Only a little." Emily admitted. "Is he tall?"

Christine sighed heavily. "Yes. He is." She confessed.

"What's he like?"

"Witty and very very clever." Christine informed her while folding down the collar. "One of the most intelligent people I know."

"Oh, I don't mean that. I mean, what does he look like?" Emily grinned while Christine carefully pushed in another pin.

"Black hair, tall, lean." Christine rattled off. "No more questions."

"You're so silly." Emily's mouth suddenly gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. "Is it that one side character, you know, the man who played the comic relief in our last opera."

"Him?" Christine laughed. "No. He's nice but hardly a romantic individual."

"He matches all of your descriptions." Emily reminded her, then she frowned. "Well, all save intelligence."

"He's a genius at comedy." Christine reminded her. "Nevertheless, he is not the one I fancy."

"Oh come now." Emily smiled and giggled a little. "Who is it?"

"I don't believe I'll tell you."

"Please. I must know who you fancy. I shan't do a bit with the information I swear." Emily begged.

Christine stepped back and placed a hand on her hip and recited sarcastically. "Fine. He's the Opera Ghost, and has been courting me for ten years, and I've fallen madly in love with him."

Emily blinked for a moment, then laughed, clutching her stomach and and wiping tears away. "That's hysterical." She giggled, then jumped. "Ouch, these pins hurt." She sobered after a few more moments. "Christine, you never fail to make me laugh. All right, keep your secrets I give up."

"I thought that would convince you." Christine smiled, chuckling a little herself. "Really, what nonsense."

For a few minuets, Christine worked in silence, listening to the occasional giggle from Emily. Obviously, she still found her joke humorous.

"Christine?" She suddenly asked.

"Hmm?"

"What's that decorated letter on the table."

Christine looked up from her pinning. "Nothing."

"Is it from the man you admire?" Emily stepped away from Christine and cross the room. "If so-"

"Emily!" Christine cried. "Leave it-" she crossed the room and grabbed her arm. "Leave it alone." She told her coldly. "You have no right to be going through my things."

Emily stopped in her steps and froze. "Alright." She obliged. "Do you send letters to each other though. Like in the romantic stories?"

"No. We don't." Christine replied.

She sighed, disappointed. "Then what is it?" She asked, eyes pleading.

"I-" Christine sighed and dropped her face in her hands and heaved a heavy sigh. "Darling, I know what it is but-" she glanced up Emily, who was already glancing at the letter again. "very well." She said softly. "If it intrigues you so much, you may open it."

Emily blinked a few times, her mouth open. Then she smiled and squealed. "Thank you!" She grasped the letter and opened the wax. She looked over it and gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Christine-" She cried.

"I know." Christine interrupted.

"You got invited to the New Years ball!"

"I know."

Emily looked up. "What do you mean, you know?"

"I knew it was coming, I was promised I would receive an invitation." Christine took the paper and glanced over the fine gold script herself. "I got it this morning."

"Christine..." Emily sighed and held a hand to her chest and winced. "Drat these pins- Christine you get to go to a ball! Promise me you'll tell me everything."

"I will." Christine assured her and folded the invitation and placed it in her pocket.

"Wait-" Emily's head tilted to the right and frowned. "Why are you getting an invitation? I mean, you deserve one of all people but, normally they only invite nobility." Her eyes lit up. "Are you secretly the daughter of a count?"

"No." Christine said flatly. "Now back on the stool, we have to take the dress off before I can in the new fittings."

"How-" Emily's face fell, but followed the instructions. Just when Christine finished unlacing the corset from her body, Emily snapped her fingers.

"I know. That man you like, he's nobility and wanted you to go so he arranged for you to get an invitation."

Christine pursed her lips. "Maybe, maybe not." She said. "But you did say i could keep my secrets, and I would appreciate it if you wouldn't meddle with them further."

"I-" Emily sighed and looked down at her hands. "I'm sorry. I really am."

"It's alright, there's nothing wrong with having an active imagination and a curious mind." Christine smiled and tapped Emily's nose. "Just learn to control them dear."


	7. Chapter 7

"I'm going to be sick."

Christine ignored Emily's claim and continued to arrange the flowers in the bride's hands, Winter flowers purchased the day before.

"Christine. I'm going to be sick."

Christine pursed her lips, at first doubtful, then thought better of it. She took the bouquet from Emily and sat it on a nearby table. Her eyes searched for a bucket, she found one in the corner, and grabbed it.

As soon as it was in Emily's hands she leaned over and threw up what little food she had eaten earlier that morning.

Tactfully looking away, Christine watched the morning sun peak a little more through the window.

"Adam's going to hate kissing me now." Emily murmured gloomily. "I'll taste awful."

Christine still didn't answer. Instead, she poured some water from a pitcher into a cup and handed it to Emily. She took it and began rinsing her mouth.

"I expect you're not the first bride to throw up on her wedding day." Christine said cheerfully. "Nerves are hardly a new concept."

"You know that's not the only reason." Emily grumbled, then swallowed another mouthful of water.

Christine sighed, but smiled proudly at the soon to be bride. Her dress finished, and fitted her to perfection, the lace covering her wrists and collar.

"I can't believe I'm getting married." Emily whispered, setting the cup down and rubbing her forehead.

"I wish that I had advice to offer you." Christine said, then enveloped the trembling girl in a hug. "I almost wish I am married so I could give you some parting words that will guide you." They separated, and Christine held Emily at arms length, smiling weakly. "Alas, all I can think of is 'good luck'."

"I just hope I won't need it." Emily said back.

Christine nodded. "I'll go see if they're ready for you."

She turned, and walked out the door into the main hall of the church. There, she saw Adam, a man with wild curly blonde hair and clear blue eyes. His suit was worn, and rather out of date, but it had the look as if it had been carefully preserved for years.

Adam's eye twitched, then his head turned to Christine and smiled he softly.

"How's she doing?" He asked quietly, eyes flicking to the way she had come.

"She's nervous. But I expect we all are." Christine admitted.

"I love her." He whispered, turning and fixating upon the doorknob in front of him. "I love her like my own life." He swallowed, and his eyes widened. "What if she changes her mind?"

"She won't. She'll be there. I promise."

He turned to Christine and flashed a grin. "I know. My head does, and my heart. But the part of me-" he gestured to his chest. "That makes fear, is blocking them out."

"Very poetic." Christine remarked, but gave him a smile in return.

"That's Emily's fault. She quotes things like that around me all the time. I must be getting it from her." He sighed and turned back to the door. "I'm going to make sure she's happy. But-" here he glanced at Christine. "I understand, that I shouldn't go too far. I should say I'll give her to means to be happy."

"I'm glad she has you." Christine murmured. "Is everything ready?"

"Not sure. I think so." His voice cracked, he swallowed again. "I hope so."

The wedding, was short, and quite small.

Madame Giry, Meg and a few other close friends attended. Emily walked slowly but steadily down the aisle, as she passed Christine she gave a small nervous glance in her direction, in return, Christine gave her a smile, trying to convey how happy she felt for her.

A simple gold band was produced when the priest asked, and Emily sprouted a real smile as she stared at it. Then the kiss came, Adam was quite gentle, holding her to him with a hand on her cheek and on the back of her neck.

Christine felt a few tears stream down her face, watching them smile shyly at each other after the kiss. Her heart ached, she thought back to their conversation when they were fitting the dress.

"Are you ever going to get married?"

Marriage...

"I'm so happy." Meg whispered to Christine, breaking her out of her thoughts. "I can't believe she's finally settling down." Meg dabbed absently at her eyes. "I want to get married some day. After I finish my ballet career, of course." She sighed.

Christine didn't answer, instead she carefully wiped away her own years and stood. She walked to the young couple, Emily turned and smiled, tears streaking from her own eyes. Within seconds they clung to each other, Emily shaking with the force of her sobs and Christine forcing herself not too.

Meg hugged Emily next, and even Madame Giry gave a small smile and a little squeeze. Emily then turned her attention to her few close friends. Christine stood next to Adam, who stood alone awkwardly, but looked at Emily with a softness that convinced Christine he would cherish her for the rest of his days.

"Why is she crying?" He asked Christine nervously, blue eyes flicking to her. "If she was happy, would she be crying?"

"Oh yes." Christine nodded and took a deep breath, feeling her lungs rattle with it. "Women often cry when we're happy. Especially at weddings."

He nodded, and swallowed. "I- I'm just glad she would have me. It's hard to compare to a Viscount."

"I think a Viscount would have trouble comparing to you." Christine murmured, watching Emily, she was accepting a present from a friend of hers. Christine wondered vaguely what was in the small brown package that had exchanged hands.

"Take good care of her, will you?" She asked gently.

Adam nodded, a new determined look in his eyes. "I will, I promise."

"Adam!"

They both looked over to see Emily gesturing wildly for Adam to come closer. Her tears had mostly dried up, and a large smile was spread across her face.

"Thank you Mademoiselle Daae." Adam murmured, then started on a brisk walk towards his bride.

Christine watched him go, feeling another tear streak down her face. Emily and Adam joined hands, he kissed it gently, then they both began walking towards the door.

Christine watched them go, and for a desperate fleeting moment, wished desperately that this wedding had been hers.

"Meg." She called softly.

Meg stopped waving to Emily and turned round at her words. Christine gestured for her to come closer, Meg walked to her, Christine took her hand, covering it with her own. "Don't wait too long to get married will you?" She begged.

"What?" Meg looked surprised, her eyes widening.

"Just don't." Christine insisted, squeezing her hand. "One day you might wake up and it's too late."

"Christine, what's wrong?" Meg asked, looking startled.

Christine realized that more tears were streaming down her face, enough to blur her vision, she blinked desperately and smiled tightly. "Just don't wait too long." Her voice croaked. "Don't make the same mistake I did."

Then she dropped Meg's hand and walked down the aisle alone.


	8. Chapter 8

The Monday after the wedding, Christine went back to work, the lead female's ankle had long healed, so Christine was back to helping the other dancers improve. Madame Giry worked with them as a whole, while Christine would pull one to three aside to work out individual issues.

She felt listless and empty, all the weeks of excitement looking foreword to the wedding had drained her, and nothing seemed to be left.

Madame Giry actually took her aside at lunch and asked if she needed the day off. Christine refused, knowing she needed something to fill her time.

When work ended, she sat at the edge of a wooden box again, watching the others leave. Absentmindedly she worked with her hair, taking it down then up again. Eventually she braided it and left it.

She guessed that she had another hour until her lessons, no, not lessons anymore. Christine reminded herself. Her _meeting _with Erik. Friends, friends who would meet and discuss music.

Christine laughed, almost nothing had changed.

It had been two weeks since she'd seen Erik, and she missed him, she had a feeling that he could fill the hole that was now in her heart. If only temporarily.

Her fingers twitched some more, and her eyes drifted to the piano, the one used in rehearsals sitting behind a curtain on the stage. Slowly she lifted herself up and walked over to it, she pulled out the chair, feeling the splintered wood beneath her hands.

Gently, she sat, pushing up the cover of the piano. It's quiet clap echoed through the empty stage, she took a deep breath and began to play a scale.

She hadn't played the piano for quite some time, but over the last decade she's neglected her skills. The lack of an available piano had much to do with it, but it was also because the piano reminded her of her father.

Several scales later, Christine set her hands in her lap and thought for a moment, then began to play Clair de Lune. Her fathers favorite.

It felt good, to be playing again, and she began to hum softly along with the song, ignoring the small mistakes here and there.

It filled her, the familiar and sad song. It felt like an old friend, welcoming her and holding her, it's sad tune understanding the hollow feeling inside her.

"I didn't know you played the piano." Erik's voice echoed behind her.

Christine started, the notes she played cut off, the feeling of comfort gone. She turned round and laughed, her heart dancing in her chest. "Stop-" She gasped. "scaring me like that!"

Erik loomed over over as always, but his normal black silk cloak was missing. He looked smaller without it, of course he still towered over her with what must have been over six feet. But without the cloak he looked less large, less intimidating.

Christine found she liked it.

He wore a suit, of course, one tailored for his thin frame, and white gloves covered his thing hands. "Apologies." He said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Good heavens. Just because your the Opera Ghost doesn't mean that you have to frighten _me_." Christine smiled, standing from her seat and moving away from the bench.

"You hardly need the push." Erik remarked mildly, waving a gloved hand in the air. "I hope Emily's wedding went well?"

"Oh-" Christine smiled. "Yes, she felt rather nervous at first, but it all turned out right."

"Good." Erik's fingers twitched, as if searching for keys to play. "It would be quite the disaster if it couldn't happen now."

"Yes. I suppose." Christine hesitated. "I- I'm very proud of her. She's made her mistakes but she's learning and doing her best to fix them."

"I thought that after everything that has happened her sense of romance would wither and die." He smiled from underneath his mask and clasped his hands behind his back, absently he began rolling back and forth on his toes. Suddenly Christine held back a giggle. He looked like a school boy, waiting to present his love with flowers.

"I-" She held back a laugh. "I doubt she'll ever lose her romantic inclined personality, but she's got it under better control now. I hope." She added, thinking back to the apartment.

"Very resilient." Erik remarked. "Letting no worldly being crush her spirit."

Christine didn't answer, instead, she examined his hair. It was raven black, and sleeked back with water, she believed. One strand had escaped and was moving with his rocking, it made her smile.

"I missed you." She said truthfully.

He stopped rocking, the hair on his head laid back down limply. "I- I missed you as well." He countered. "Our lessons... are very instructive on both sides, I have learned much from you."

Christine smiled softly, her eyes sparkled and for a moment she swore she heard him take in a breath. "It was hard. Going without lessons. I'm glad we've decided that even if the lessons must change, only the name has to." Here she hesitated, then ran to Erik and encircled him with her arms.

It was like hugging a board of wood, frankly, Erik was awfully thin, but it was mostly because he had stiffened like steel the moment she touched him. Undaunted, she pressed her face into his chest, rubbing her cheeks against the soft silk suit. She heard him give a gasp as she sighed and finally rested her head gently against his chest. "I really have missed you, I never knew how much our lessons helped me." She admitted.

Still he did not answer, and Christine felt him slowly, ever so slowly relax.

They stayed like that, Erik barely comfortable with her touch and Christine drawing immense amounts of comfort from it.

Then she pulled away, running her hands down his arms to grasp his hands. "Thank you." She told him. "For the ball invitation. I think I will enjoy myself."

His head tilted down towards her, and still he said nothing, though his hands surrounded hers. Gently he opened them, looking down at her palms. "How long have you been playing the piano?" He asked.

"About thirty years." She said, after a moment of thought. "Though I've barely played anything for the past ten years."

"You play well. That piece, Claire de Lune?"

"Yes." Christine laughed. "It was one of my father's favorites."

"I haven't heard it in quite some time." He confided, and dropped her hands.

"Are we going to begin a lesson, or are we going to talk the whole night?" Christine asked, smiling softly. "Either way, I think I'll greatly enjoy myself."

"Is it too much to hope that you could play that piece once more?" Erik asked. "I've been looking for it for quite some time."

"I repeat, I haven't played in almost a decade." Christine laughed. "But I'll do my best." She turned and sat on the bench again, Erik stepped up behind her.

She started the song over, playing it slowly, correcting notes as mistakes came. When she played the last notes, she smiled and turned upwards to find Erik staring not at the keys as she expected but at her. She smiled, felt heat rise in her cheeks but stood and faced his white mask. "I think I can transcribe it if you wish."

"It's alright. I believe I can write it myself now." He nodded gently. "You play well, though it needs fine tuning."

"Well this sounds familiar." Christine smiled, and pressed her hand to her cheek. "Wait-" she said, dramatically staring into the distance. "I have it!" Her fingers snapped. "That's exactly what you said about my voice all those years ago." She quirked an eyebrow, and saw him smile, a real one too. A full one that even showed his teeth, surprisingly white and none missing, from what she could see.

"I see now." She continued, dramatically sweeping her hand above the piano. "Piano lessons instead of singing ones. And after ten years of that, what else? Perhaps the violin, or the tuba."

He laughed then, a silky but rich thing that made her laugh with him.

"I will teach you if you wish." He suggested.

"This sounds familiar too." Christine smiled. "But alas, I believe this is something I can improve on my own. And as of today, I have no desire to perfect it as you have with my voice."

"I merely showed you the path to go." He said humbly, bowing his head towards her.

"And dragged me kicking and screaming. I know I wasn't an easy student, especially at first." Sighing, Christine reached out and took his arm. "But I came round didn't I?"

His head jerked towards the direction of her hand gently clasping his suit. "Yes, yes I believe so." He said vaguely, but Christine wasn't sure he'd heard what she said.

"Come, let's dance again." She pulled his arm towards her waist and smiled. "Let us hope no drunk ghost catchers find us again."

Erik flinched, as if the memory hurt him, Christine dropped his arm and reached up to place a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry." She said honestly. "I didn't-"

He took her by surprise, his hand clasped hers and his arm clamped around her waist. Then he swept her into a waltz.

They didn't speak for quite some time, they moved round the stage to a tune they both imagined. Once or twice she heard him mutter the counting times under his breath. He hardly needed it now. He had mastered dancing shockingly fast.

They finished at the same moment, Erik giving a bow and Christine curtsying.

Christine then taught him another, which he mastered just as quickly. In the end they switched between both of them, one to the other. Enjoying both of them equally.

They stopped and sat on the piano bench together, Christine doing her best to catch her breath after what must have been nearly an hour of dancing.

Erik seemed to be as composed as ever, though a smile hinted at the corners of his mouth.

"We will sweep the floor at the ball." He announced. "There will be no finer couple than ourselves."

Christine laughed. "Perhaps. I still have to sew my costume."

"Why not buy it?" He inquired. Tilting his head to the side, the one strand of hair jerking with it.

"I already dug into a large amount of my savings to buy Emily her dress." Christine revealed. "I can't afford to buy a ready made costume." Here she groaned. "And I need a new formal dress too. My old one is worn after nine years."

Erik was silent, then he said softly. "I apologize, I didn't realize that a costume might be a burden on your budget."

"It's alright." Christine assured him. "I'm excited to go. I want to, and my formal dress will hold out for another year. Maybe-" Her face brightened. "Maybe I could make my costume into a formal dress, so I wouldn't have to buy supplies for both."

Once again, he was quiet, staring at the air vaguely in front of him. His thin lips pressed together.

"Don't feel guilty now. You've done nothing wrong." Christine assured him.

"One would think I would have considered this." He said scathingly. "Forgive me, I am not used to working under a budget."

"You are forgiven." Christine patted him arm. "Come now, how is your costume coming along?"

"Well enough I suppose." He said vaguely. "You'll find out more on New Years Eve, I daresay."

"Oh goodness." Christine laughed. "I can hardly take the suspense."


	9. Chapter 9

"Perfect." Christine swung a costume off a rack, looking over it's shimmering fabric cheerfully. "Absolutely perfect."

Next to her, a women just a few inches taller than Christine herself, gave a small smile. "I'm glad it's up to your tastes." She said briskly. "And if you make a few changes, I don't think anyone will mind."

Christine nodded and looped the gown over her dress. "I cannot believe we still have so many costumes." She admitted looking over the candle lit racks and racks of gowns, robes, and props.

"Well, they're useful from time to time." The seamstress confided. "Often we make brand new costumes by stitching two or three together."

They began walking down the row, the seamstress holding a candle up to light their way. "The younger seamstresses often draw straws to come and fetch costumes." The women laughed. "They're afraid of the ghost."

"Well, it's only when you get to the third level there starts to be trouble. I've heard." Christine commented, rearranging the silver fabric. "I must say, I'm very glad I thought to ask you about costuming."

"Well, I know you won't have any trouble keeping it nice and clean." The seamstress replied. "And being invited to the New Years Ball is no small thing! You ought to dress your best, and not waste all your savings for a one night dress just to impress the higher ups." She gave Christine an approving eye. "You've got sense."

"About the ball." Christine murmured. "I would prefer to keep it quiet. Invitations are dreadfully hard to come by, and some people might think I was-' she hesitated. "Doing some, "favors" for the higher ups. Which I am not-" she said firmly. "And will never do."

"Of course." A round eye winked at Christine. "I've got sense too."

She laughed, and they turned and began climbing the stairs up the ground level.

Christmas rolled around, and the whole theatre enjoyed a few weeks off. Christine spent her time sewing her costume to the shape and look she wanted. She had actually splurged again, buying a coil of silver colored wire that she shaped into a crown of sorts. It didn't look half bad, she thought, whilst securing it on her head with pins. In fact, it looked rather nice.

The sewing was more relaxed than the wedding gown had been, but the approaching New Year made Christine spend many a hour hunch over the shimmering fabric, furiously sewing.

On Christmas day, she woke and dressed, headed straight to the Giry's. As always, she spent Christmas day with them.

There, Christine and the Giry's had a filling breakfast, then circled round the a small tree heavily decorated with tinsel and candy to open the gifts they had brought.

Madame Giry received some pins from her daughter, and a good copy of Ivanhoe from Christine. When Meg ripped open her packages to fine silk stockings from her mother, and a knitted shawl from Christine, she shrieked with excitement and thank them both thoroughly.

As Christine began unpacking a string of crocheted lace from Madame Giry, Meg suddenly cried-

"Why- I forgot the package."

Madame Giry looked up, startled. "Oh. Yes. Do fetch that will you Meg."

Meg disappeared upstairs, and came running back down with a package so large that she struggled to carry down the stairs.

It was wrapped in brown packing paper, tied with a green ribbon.

"This appeared on the counter this morning when I came down to start a fire." Meg admitted. "Mama said to save it, for a surprise."

Then she gave it to Christine, placing it on the floor. Carefully Christine kneeled down beside it, she picked it up gingerly.

The package, she felt, was soft and felt like cloth. She checked the card tied to the ribbon, she noticed with surprise the ribbon was made of silk. The card had one word written on it, in black, scrawling ink.

Christine

It made Christine's heart drop. Gently she touched a beautifully tied bow on top of the package, slowly she pulled it apart. Meg watched intently, Madame Giry seemed a bit stunned herself.

Christine unwrapped the paper, carefully pulling it apart, saving it from being ripped. It uncovered four smaller wrapped packages of various sizes. Each one tied with a green silk ribbon.

Christine picked up the first and pulled it apart, at first glance, the contents appeared to be green fabric. Christine grasped it and carefully lifted it from the paper.

Meg gasped.

It was a dress, no, a gown, a green gown. With the most beautiful lace, flowers and roses, trimming the edges. And it was made of-

"Silk." Madame Giry breathed. "That is made out of silk."

It was styled in the latest fashion, a high collar, and a jacket that fastened in the front. The queen wouldn't have been ashamed to wear it, it probably cost more than Christine made in a year.

They were all very quiet, then Meg whispered quietly, "There's more isn't there?"

Christine gently set the dress aside, laying it on the table next to her and took up a slighter smaller brown package. She unwrapped it as well, once again she was shocked.

There was a chemise, several petticoats and bloomers. Madame Giry ran a hand over them and frowned.

"This is Egyptian cotton." She announced. "It's more comfortable than silk, and almost as durable." When they stared at her, she gave a thin smile and shrugged. "Carlotta insists all her under garments be Egyptian cotton."

There were silk stockings and gloves at the bottom, green tinged and wonderfully smooth.

"Two more more packages." Meg whispered, pale and eyes the size of saucers.

Christine nodded, and picked another up, this one was harder. In fact, it felt like-

"Shoes!" Meg squealed. Black and brightly shining, Christine ran her hands over the smooth surface, wondering what the last package was.

She picked the last one up, this one was the smallest, it could fit in her hand comfortably. But it weighed quite a bit, and felt extremely solid.

It was an emerald necklace, or at least, considering the quality of the rest of the clothes, Christine assumed that it was real emeralds. Set in silver, with a large bright green emerald in the center. There was a pair of earrings to go with it, and a small package of hairpins, studded with the green jewels.

"Green is your best color." Meg admitted. "Whoever got all this has really good taste."

Madame Giry nodded, looking pale herself. "Truly, this is an expensive and beautiful gift."

Christine nodded, looking at the jewels in her head, they seemed to shimmer and gleam in the lamp light. "I must say," she croaked. "I was not- never expected-.-"

"Try it on!" Meg cried suddenly. "You simply must. Oh goodness-" she took the silk gown and draped it over her shoulder. "I've never had silk before." She gestured to a door in the living room. "You can change in Mamam's room."

It took some time, she changed out of her starched white shirt and brown skirt and stripped off her under garments.

The Egyptian cotton was beautifully sleek and comfortable, Christine wished she could wear it every day. The stockings were just her size, and the shoes, though they had heels, were wonderfully comfortable and would last a long time.

Finally she slipped on the dress, she was surprised that no bustle was necessary. It was supported by her layers of petticoats. Whoever had given her this dress knew her tastes. She hated bustles with a passion.

The wrists were a little loose, and the waist just a bit big. But that could easily be fixed, as long as she had the courage to cut such fine fabric. She let her corset out a little to make up for the difference in her waist.

The necklace and earring's came next to last, and finally she pinned up her hair in her usual style.

Then she stood in the room, feeling better dressed than she ever had before, suddenly too embarrassed to come out.

She ran her hands down the material, surprised to find a pocket. She reached inside and felt paper, she drew it out and saw it was a letter.

She ripped it open, finding a fine piece of paper, on it in that same untidy scrawl she read-

I hope this satisfy's your need for a formal dress.

Tears dripped from her eyes as she read the note. She clenched it in one hand, cursing and blessing him at the same time.

"Erik." She whispered. "Erik you fool I can't wear this. Not unless I was a duchess."

There was a tentative knock on the door. "Christine? Are you done?"

"I-I." Christine took a deep breath and fetched her handkerchief from her skirt, she wiped her eyes vigorously. "Yes. Just a moment."

Carefully she began her breathing exercises, furiously dabbing her eyes whenever a tear leaked out.

When she moved out of the room, Meg gave a heavenly sigh. "Oh. You look like a queen."

Madame Giry said nothing, instead she gazed at Christine sharply. Christine smiled weakly back, but didn't reply to her or her daughter.

"Turn around!" Meg cried. "Oh. Why, you look like you made for silk and jewels."

"And Egyptian cotton." Christine reminded her whilst spinning slowly.

"And Egyptian cotton." Meg agreed. "If I didn't know better I would say you're some duchess."

"I'm going to have to return this." Christine whispered. "I can't keep this. This is far too expensive to accept."

Meg starred, then marched up to Christine and grasped her shoulders. "You have to keep it. You don't know who sent it, and-and heavens who wouldn't want it!"

"But where would I wear it?" Christine snapped, suddenly feeling irritable. "I'm not in the habit of going to balls, and I certainly can't wear this to work. And heavens," she waved her hand. "if I walked down the street I'd practically be masquerading as a noble. Which I am not, no matter what Emily wishes."

Meg wilted. "You could wear it to our Sunday dinners." She suggested weakly.

"Meg, do you really think that Sunday dinner are the best use of this dress?" Madame Giry said sharply.

"I-I." Christine pursed her lips. "I'm going home."

"What?" Meg asked. "But what about dinner. Mother's been teaching me how to make cookies-"

"I'm sorry. I- I'm going home." Christine said, now firm in her decision. "Just as soon as I-" she turned round. "get out of this dress."

As soon as she finished this she finished this thought she swept up the paper on the floor with the ribbon and headed back into Madame Giry's room.

Half an hour she walked down the street clutching the package, cursing that dress with every puff of ice that blew from her mouth.

At a road though, she stopped and leaned against a building. She leaned against it gratefully and let a few tears escape her eyes.

What use did she have with such finery? None. She told herself. None whatsoever. And it didn't feel right, wearing a dress and clothes that cost more than what she made in a year several times over. Why? Why, did he have to make things so difficult?

She gritted her teeth. She wasn't mad about the clothing, truly, she was flattered and some part of her wanted to keep them. But the fact that she would have to give them back to Erik, knowing it would hurt him so, and that he had meant so well.

Another tear escaped from her mouth. She hated to hurt him like this.

Then she turned on her heels and began to travel towards the Opera House with long, deliberate steps.


	10. Chapter 10

The theater was locked.

Christine cursed herself, standing in front of the wooden door. She was far too used to it being open and ready for practice. She shivered a little, clutching the package close to her chest. What to do now? She supposed she could go home, but the dark box that was her apartment felt unappealing to return to.

Perhaps she could return to the Giry's, it would be a humble pie to bite, but she was used to that. They could laugh about the dress and eat the dinner they had prepared. Christine sighed at the thought, Madame Giry was an excellent cook.

"Christine?"

The voice sounded rather shocked, and Christine felt a bit of childish pride that this time she had surprised him, rather than the other way round.

She turned to face Erik. He wore a hat with a wide brim that blocked much of his face, the lower half was covered by a thick black woolen scarf. A thin black coat warmed his chest and his usual cloak blew gently in the wind. "What on earth are you doing outside in this temperature?" He asked. Quickly he stepped past her and opened the locked door with ease. "Come inside." He commanded. "Before you catch your death of a cold."

"Thank you." Christine said stiffly, she stepped inside the slightly warmer building and blinked at the sudden darkness when Erik closed the door. Within moments he lit a candle, letting a soft glow fill the room.

It was a hallway, doorways littered the hall, and the darkness grew ever stronger the farther away from the comforting light of the candle. The end of the hallway was hidden in a curtain of black.

"What are you doing here?" He set the candle down on a nearby table and slipped off his gloves, revealing his long, angular hands. "This is hardly the time for a lesson."

"I came to return this." Christine thrust out the large package towards him, he stared down at it, but didn't take it. "I'm sorry, I can't accept it. I know you sent it!" She added, giving him a stern look. "It's a beautiful gown but I simply cannot accept something so expensive."

Erik tore his scarf from his neck, revealing a frown, he dropped the scarf on the floor. "And why is my gift so rudely returned?" He asked flatly.

"I have no use for it!" Christine said desperately. "I attend no balls, no social calls that would require a dress like this. I don't want to be any more indebted to you than I have to be."

"That gown was a gift. It is not meant to be repaid." The coldness in his voice made her flinch.

Christine pressed her lips together, gave a small huff and plowed on. "Well were am I going to wear it? When I will I use it?" She demanded.

"I assumed you would wear it to the Giry's." He smoothly began unbuttoning his coat, revealing a pristine suit beneath it.

"I doesn't seem right to wear something to their dinners that costs more than what I make in a year." Christine snapped, once again she tried to shove that package back to Erik.

"That could be changed." He said, carefully pushing it back to her person.

"I wasn't asking for a raise!" She shouted, angry at how calm he seemed. "I'm doing just fine on what I've got thank you."

"And yet you struggle to clothe yourself." He snapped back, he tore off his hat and tossed it aside.

"Well normally I don't have wedding dresses to pay for." Christine said angrily. "Really, when I complain about things getting tight, it's not a call for help. If I need help I'll ask for it."

"It was not meant to help you." He said, pointing a long pointer finger at her. "It was a gift."

"One I have no use for." Christine said cruelly. Then bit her tongue, she threw the package on the floor, hearing the paper crinkle with the thump. For a moment she felt ready to scream every insult she knew, then she took a heavy breath. "I'm sorry." She said softly. "I'm not angry at you, truly. And it's a beautiful gown, but I won't use ever it."

Erik didn't answer, instead he leaned against the wall and looked up at the ceiling with a heavy sigh.

"Erik!" Christine said, wishing he'd just look at her. "You don't need to give me things."

"I don't need to give you lessons either." He said, still examining the wooden roof. "I wanted you to have something fine to wear."

"Erik." Christine gave a small smile and stepped up next to him, she reached up and grasped his angular chin. She directed it to look at her, there she looked in the black sockets and suddenly wished she could see his eyes. "I don't need fine things." She murmured.

His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. His mask was more revealing that usual, Christine noted, it curved back sooner that his others, showing the beginning of a hallowed deformity on his rough pale skin. Slowly she released his chin and traced the beginnings of his deformity with her thumb.

"You deserve them." He murmured suddenly, then swallowed hastily.

Christine gave a small smile, then reach up with her hand and pulled him down by the lapels of his coat to meet his thin, nonexistent lips to hers.

He didn't respond, not really, but she had expected that. Still she pressed bravely onwards, cupping his masked cheek with one hand, the other found the back of his neck and held him there, his lips against hers.

It was a short moment, it hardly lasted more than a few moments, but in it Christine felt no small amount of triumph. How long had she wished to do this? It felt like she had forever.

She pulled away after a moment, grinning like an idiot. Erik's face stayed exactly where she had directed it, his lips trembled.

"Christine." He croaked, a hand snaked up between her arms to touch his lips. "You-" his voice gave out, whatever he'd had to say faded like the darkness in the hall.

"Your a very silly man sometimes." Christine murmured, then strained her neck up to kiss him again.

This time she angled her head a bit to deepen it. Erik, to her joy, began to return it. His arms wound their way round her waist, pulling her closer to him, sending shivers up her spine.

It felt good, kissing him, it felt right.

Then it was all wrong.

All at once, he pushed her away, tearing her hands from his head and throwing them to their owner. Then he snatched his belongings with an inhuman speed, and ran, tumbling and sprinting farther into the dark of the Opera House.

Christine stood, she'd expected surprise but blatant refusal had been- Her hand touched her waist, where his arms had been just seconds before. She jerked it away, touched her cheeks where new tears were brimming.

"Stupid." She whispered. "Stupid. Sho-sh-should have known. Oh why-" She buried her hands into her face, allowing all the tears that wanted to come to flow. Her shoulders began to shake, and she desperately searched for her handkerchief, once she found she began wiping her streaming tears again.

"Oh why?" She moaned. "It all could have been all right, you were cooling down, but then you have to kiss him. Scaring him off like that, you know better."

She should have known, Erik was not used to such affection, she should have known.

Perhaps he was afraid, he had never been loved before, Christine was sure. Perhaps he was frightened of the path she had taken him down.

Christine wiped her tears absently, she would speak to him at the ball, she decided. Then, perhaps they could sort things out.

But now, there was nothing but the hole in her heart and the tears in her eyes. It hurt, she admitted to herself, it hurt to be rejected like that.

Not knowing quite what to do, she scooped up the brown package.

"You're more trouble than your worth." She informed it, and blew out the candle that still shone brightly. The darkness surrounded her then. Ignoring her momentary panic, Christine opened the door and closed it securely behind her. Then she turned to the cold snowy street and began to make her way to the Giry's again.

After all, there was a nice dinner to be found there, and friendly faces. After dinner they would sing Christmas carols, then they would sit and talk, eating the odd candy or two until long after midnight.

That was what she would do. Christine decided while she walked down the cold street. That was what she would do while she waited.


	11. Chapter 11

When Christine had said that balls were hot, she had not realized just how accurate that would be.

Candles lit every inch of the grand hall gave off a fair amount of heat, but most of it came from the pure amount of people. Several hundred people in costumes of all kinds danced and ate and talked generated quite the sweat fest.

It made Christine glad that her costume was light, with minimal layers. She had dressed as an elf, with silver embroidery covering the shimmering grey fabric. The crown she had made sat on her head, held in place with pins.

Her hair flowed free, reaching just below her waist with it's tangled, brown curly locks. She had made a few small braids by her face to keep out the worst of it, while she had braided it, she had twisted in little threads of silver. It gave the braids a shimmering effect that Christine quite liked.

Finally, her mask covered most of her face, leaving only her mouth and lower cheeks exposed, it was plain white, with silver swirls.

Now, she stood to the side lines, watching the twirling whirling costumes as their wearers danced across the floor. There were servants, offering glasses of wine and small treats wandering through. The ball didn't offer a full meal, but tiny delectable were eaten by the dozens by the swirling numerous aristocrats.

Gently she fanned herself, looking over all the costumes, searching for one in particular.

The taller men received special attention from herself, she discarded one that dressed as a women, then another three or four that wore masks so small that they barely covered their faces at all.

In one man she thought she lingered on for a time, until she saw him grasp a women and pull her behind a pillar to kiss her rather passionately.

She was focusing on a man dressed as a roman emperor, wearing a full mask painted to imitate Ceasar, when a cold glove gently touched her arm.

Christine smiled, and spun around to see a wall of red.

The costume followed the owner's thin figure, with golden embroidery imitating bones, and a crimson cape flowing behind him.

The mask covered his entire face and was shaped like a skull, Christine looked up into the sockets of his eyes and knew that it was him.

She grasped his hand, noting that he flinched as she did so, she was afraid that he would run again. "I'm sorry." She whispered. "The dress is beautiful." She smiled up at him. "That's what I should have said in the first place. I'm sorry."

He didn't answer, but pulled her hand up and gently touched them to his skulls lips.

"Mademoiselle." He purred.

Christine smiled, "Aren't you going to ask me to dance?" She asked, raising an eyebrow despite knowing that he couldn't see.

"Before I compliment your appearance?" He raised a hand to his chest dramatically and took a step back. "Dare I commit such a crime?"

"Compliment me then, and get on with it." Christine gave a faint smile of amusement.

Erik bowed low, still grasping her hand and placed it to his mask again. "My queen." He began. "You shine like the stars, and are as beautiful as the moon. You're costume-" he gestured to herself. "Is genius itself. There is not a women in the room that can possibly compare."

"Some say that that would be a matter of opinion." Christine observed ruefully.

"Ah. My fairy, it is not my own humble opinion, but a fact. True and as old as the mountains and valleys that dress this earth only to serve you."

She was really smiling now, and blushing too, she was sure. "Then my Lord." She drew back her hand and curtsied. "Grace me with a dance, I beg it of you."

Then Erik took her hand, and they waited in the sidelines until a new dance began.

He swept her into it with all the skill of a master, no longer were they a teacher and student, but partners. Each one detirmend to outshine the couples around.

When the dance ended, they began another, and then another.

They were gathering quite a bit of attention now, Christine noticed. And she found that she really didn't mind.

"We appear to be starting some rumors." Erik noted.

Christine watched a particularly rude couple, who starred and whispered openly. Suddenly a smile tugged at her lips. "If they wish to talk, then let's give them something to talk about."

Erik then pulled her so close, that their audience must have assumed they were either lovers or married. "Like so?"

"Perfect." Christine laughed. "Not a single tongue will not wag because of our scandle."

"Take care, young lady." He murmured, squeezing her hand. "I am red death, and I am not to be trifled with."

"You would dress as that." Christine rolled her eyes to the ceiling. "You're the only one brash enough."

"Nevertheless, tonight, I am no longer your teacher, but death himself." He said in a low urgent tone.

"Well." Christine smiled shrewdly. "I am an immortal elf. I have no fear of death and I with play with it as much as I choose."

They danced another two dances together, then Christine began hearing whispers. Midnight was coming, they said.

"Perhaps it is time we left?" Erik ventured.

"Oh, yes."

The dance ended, Erik bowed again while Christine curtsied. Then he grabbed her hand and pulled her through the thick crowd.

They ran up the staircase, through the grand doorway, and into a hall. Erik examined a few couples, who, having board of dancing, where enjoying less widely approved activities.

He led her down the familiar hallways and rooms that she had known for ten years. He led her to the back of the Opera House and to a staircase that stretched up into the building.

"Have you ever been on the roof?" He asked.

"Only a few times." She admitted. "And never at night."

At once he grasped her hands, pulling her up the staircase, it spun round and round. It left Christine with a dizzy and rather tilting feeling.

Half way they paused to rest, Erik sounding just as out of breath as her as they leaned against the railing.

Then they turned higher, laughing like children and racing each other. Erik's long legs served him well, but Christine's height allowed her to run past him at opportune moments.

Finally they came to a door, Erik in the lead. He halted in front of the wooden thing and held out an arm to stop her. She laughed, and stopped as well.

"Close your eyes." He commanded.

Christine gave him a look, and smiled. "Why should I?"

"Close them." He commanded, and his voice rushed over her like a great power. "Please." He added, sounding rather pitiful with that word.

She hesitated, and closed them. "Now what is going on?" She asked.

She heard the grappling and twisting of a doorknob, a creak and a rush of cold air as the door opened. A strong arm wrapped itself around her waist.

"Oh, I see." Christine laughed. "Shall I expect the customary joke of being run into a wall?"

They stepped over something.

"I would never do such things to you." Erik's voice said softly, a tenderness in it made Christine blush.

"Right. Likely your sense of drama would demand I'd be led off the roof."

His hand grasped hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I would catch you."

"And be crushed yourself." Christine reminded him, he muttered for her to go around some item, she followed and just brushed something hard with her foot. "Romantic heroism does not excuse you from physics."

"Then I'd best ensure you never surrcom to such a tragic end." He said, giving a heavy sigh. "You may open your eyes."

Christine did so, and released an audible gasp.

The city of Paris was before her, with lights twinkling from every window while people celebrated the New Year. Below them the warm glow of the streetlights revealed carriages waiting for their charges to tire of wine and dance.

Smoke rose from a few factories in the distance. But the moon still managed to shine through, it was hardly full, but provided more than enough light to see. Clouds moved across the sky, dropping the occasional snowflake and reflecting moonlight.

All in all, it was a beautiful picture, one that Christine would have liked to see painted, or captured with a camera.

"You're crying."

Her hands flew to her face, and she touched the streaks with mild surprise.

"I'm sorry." Erik murmured mournfully. "If I'd known this would bring you pain-"

"It's not pain, just memories." Christine whispered softly, her eyes flicking away from the perfect image to Erik himself. "You know, my father used to love rooftops. He would find the top of every building he entered and would bring me to the top and watch the city skyline. We would talk for hours."

"You miss him." Erik observed, lifting his gloved hand to carefully wiping away one of her tears.

"I miss him greatly." Christine admitted, catching his hand and holding it to her cheek. "He is a hole than can never be healed. Not really."

"What was he like?" Erik asked, his hand on her cheek trembling slightly. "Your father?"

"Oh." Christine laughed and smiled. "He was one of those men who just radiated warmth. To Papa no man was a stranger, and he always remembered everyone's names." Her voice broke, and another tear fell, it disappeared under Erik's thumb. "I remember, when everything was wrong and it all was too much, he'd give one of his smiles. 'Come on Chris.' He'd say. 'You've got pipes in your throat and music in your veins. Add a little laughter and love and that's all you'll ever need.'

"Then he'd pull out his violin and play a few tunes, and I'd sing. And just for a while, everything was alright." Christine sighed at the memory, absently she reached for Erik's other hand, she found it and gave it a squeeze.

"He sounds like a remarkable man." Erik admitted.

"I've never met anyone like him." Christine said. "He had his faults though, the man never knew how to dress formally. And he's more disorganized than Meg." She laughed. "Imagine him, in slacks and a cotton shirt, hair and beard messed to the point of insanity, smiling and saying 'Ready to go Chris!' When we're about to go onstage!" Christine shook her head and dropped his hands, gesturing to her clothes. "I dressed him, mostly. Forced him into a tie and suit, but we never were able to calm that hair."

Erik laughed, and it's richness filled her, she laughed too. When it died down she looked at him, reached up to stroke his hair, but changed her mind.

Instead she hugged him, enveloping herself in the layers and layers of red silk. This time he was more responsive, wrapping his arms around her waist, and relaxing more at her touch. Christine smiled and laid her head against his chest, burying her nose into his coat.

Of course, it was then that the New Year came. There was a great cry from below and she heard fireworks being set off on the street below. Christine ignored them, smiling faintly in Erik's arms. She had seen enough New Years, now it was time to explore something else, something just as New as the coming year.

"Christine." She heard Erik whisper above her, amid all the shouts and cries of celebration.

"Yes Erik?" She whispered, fingering a tassel from his coat.

"I- I think that we should stop seeing each other." He said slowly.

Christine's hand froze, she pushed Erik back and stared at the skull like mask. "Excuse me?" She asked, playing a hand on her hip and giving him a look she usually only used on the girls.

Erik's fingers laced with each other and began fiddling. "It has come to my attention that you might have feelings for me that go beyond friendship-"

"I kissed you Erik." Christine interrupted, snapping the words off her tongue. "Yes, I have more than friendly feelings for you."

He paused, then plowed on as if she had not spoke. "And to avoid it going father, I think it best we mutually agree to halt our friendship."

Christine stared, watching him with a stunned look on her face. "I suppose that tonight meant nothing then? All the compliments and the dancing?" She remarked in a hollow voice.

"Yes-no. I-" Erik tore off his hat and ran his hands through his hair. "I am a selfish man." He admitted. "I wanted- I- I allowed it to go too far. I apologize, all the more reason to halt now."

"And why can we not pursue such a relationship?" Christine snapped, stepping towards him. "I want you Erik, I lov-"

"No!" Erik hissed, rushing forward and clamping his hand over her mouth. "Do not say that! Say anything but that!"

Christine glared over his gloved hand, but stayed silent. Slowly he removed his hand, Christine pressed her lips together in frustration. "Very well." She finally said. "Why can we not pursue such a relationship?"

"I-" Erik reached up and tore off the skull mask, revealing a white one beneath. The one he had worn when she had kissed him. His hair was sweaty and limp, and his lips trembled as he spat out words. "I can offer you nothing! No home, no honest work, I don't even know my own last name!" He let out a choked sob.

"Do you think I care?" Christine whispered, with tears streaming down her own cheeks.

"No- no. You don't understand, this is my life?" He gestured to himself, hands shaking. "I am the phantom. I am death. I hide behind walls, playing the part of a glorified Opera Ghost. I wouldn't, couldn't make a hus-" He cut off, turning his cloak with a flick, it settled and his back was to her. "There is nothing I can offer you, leave me."

"Erik-"

"LEAVE!" He screamed, whirling around with clenched fists and tears escaping from beneath his mask. "Leave me be! Leave me and take away your voice, your kindness, your clever words..." He choked off.

Christine watched him, tears streaming beneath her own mask, and hating the way he spoke. As if he didn't deserve her.

"I won't be able to convince you differently will I?" She whispered miserably.

He didn't answer.

And then he was gone, his first mask replaced, his hat placed on his head again. He spun his cloak and was gone, down one of his passages that Christine guessed he had on the roof.

Her knees gave out, and she tore off her own mask, crying and sobbing. Alone, with the familiar feeling of heartbreak.

**Thanks for all the support with this story, all the reviews are greatly appreciated.**


	12. Chapter 12

Christine moped in her apartment for three days.

She knew she shouldn't. She hated women who couldn't never get over themselves and their petty relationships.

But Erik wasn't petty nor was their friendship.

He had been her friend, her confident. When they first met, he had become a wall for her to lean on, a steady and strong thing after her father had passed.

The memories had been worse then, she would be teaching her girls, and then suddenly the smoke was in the air and she was crawling and trying to find her father again.

Many questioned her sanity, her sudden 'fits' where she would shake and cough and cry, calling for her father. Even Madame Giry had looked scared off her at times until the memories faded.

Only Erik, wonderful understanding Erik, had been unjudging. When the memories came he would wait patiently, and when she conquered them his eyes would shine with an understanding that floored her.

Some would say that it was selfish, or cruel to do nothing. But he hadn't done nothing, he hadn't known what to do, Christine doubted he had ever comforted a human before.

But he had waited.

He had waited, and when he was more confident, he used to sing quietly until she had escaped the trap of her past.

When she struggled to understand the new world around her, the corsets, the bustles, the money and even the old french that she had struggled to master. He had been quiet, never mentioning her oddities.

Oh how she had struggled, how she had tried for years to be like everyone else, and tired and failed in this new world.

But music had been there, music was the same as it always had been. Notes flying from her throat, the vibrations in her bones, and the feeling of flight.

The nightly lessons had been a solid comfort under her feet, one that reminded her to keep going, keep moving, keep learning.

And now they were gone, swept under her feet like a rug. Now she was alone, and _it hurt._

It hurt. And Christine wasn't afraid to admit it, it hurt and she wanted Erik back. If only to laugh and learn and debate with him again. There needn't be kisses, nor whispered words of love or romantic evenings, she only wanted his rich voice and clever mind and his passion for music.

Their passion for music.

It was all gone now.

Three days.

Christine allowed herself three days, to cry and moan and think over every memory with him.

Three days after New Years work began again. They were hurriedly finishing off Faust, the latest Opera, trying to make up for the days lost during the Holidays.

The pain was still there, a dull ache that threatened to overcome her at any moment. She buried it, tried to hide it in herself. But the others noticed, she had changed and they all wondered why. Many guessed, but few were right.

Then the performances began, a stunning success, with boxes sold out left and right.

It was said the Phantom was pleased, for he had asked for his stool for every night of the performance while it lasted. But the usual laughter at the jokes, the request for the program didn't come.

They preformed every night for a month, save Sundays.

Dinners on Sundays were a delight after a grey and dull week.

Nadir was a common sight at these dinners now, he and Madame Giry and Meg would chat. Christine forced herself to participate, it was good for herself.

One evening, Nadir had pulled her aside, and began questioning her.

"What is wrong?" He had so intently, with his eyes crinkling so very like her father's that Christine choked down a sob and a tear streamed down her cheek.

Then the man had hugged her, his beard smelled like smoke and his suit like must but she had dug her face into it anyways and though no more tears shed she clung to him like he was her beloved Erik.

"I once heard a story." Nadir murmured. "There was a fairy, who was said to dance in sunlight and laughter all day and through the night. It had a jewel that it treasured above all else. Every day she polished it and she held it up to the sun to see it sparkle. One day a human stole the gem, and the fairy never laughed nor danced again." His voice softened. "Who has stolen your jewel child?"

Christine shook her head, refusing to answer.

"Was it Erik?" Nadir's voice was cold, suddenly.

Christine pulled away, staring at him with large eyes.

"I've guessed you two know each other." He said wearily, giving a heavy sigh. "What jewel has he taken from you?"

Christine pursed her lips, her eyes falling to the floor. She heard a sigh, one that seemed to resonate how tired it's owner was.

"What he done?" Nadir said patiently. "Don't worry, I'll do my best to protect you."

Suddenly Christine laughed, he thought Erik had done something to her! Thought he had hurt her, stolen something.

Well he had, but Nadir wasn't thinking in the right road.

So she shook her head, gave him a small smile and shrugged. "You needn't worry, it's his right to take that jewel."

It was his right to not wish to be with her anymore.

Then she walked back into the dining room, her head held high.

Faust was finished, there was a small celebration among the cast, and then the anticipation for the next show.

What could it be? Who would lead? The questions were thrown around until finally the managers announced.

The next play was a secret, those who wanted parts would prepare a piece that they felt best reflect their skills. They would be assigned, before the play was revealed.

It was odd, and caused quite the stir. Christine herself wondered vaguely why, there were more rumors about how opposing Opera Houses were trying to copy theirs.

Joseph Bouquet was seen prowling around more and more, most of the ballet girls were afraid of him. He had always been a constant drunk, but he was never seen without a bottle in hand anymore.

He would constantly tell stories about the Opera Ghost's hideousness, and how he was controlling them all.

"I've got him under my thumb." He'd said, giving a lazy wink. "He'll fall to me yet."

It worried Christine, Bouquet was a drunk uneducated man, but he was not stupid as people assumed. He had worked with theaters for two decades, and knew the ins and out of the tricks and magic of the theater. Part of her worried that he would somehow find his way to Erik.

She began to watch him, especially when it was late and he at his drunkest.

At his bravest.

Two days later she found him, deep in the third cellar.

He had been kneeling over a crying half naked ballet girl, gagged so that no one would hear her cries. He glanced up at Christine's sharp gasp and reached up to lunge for her. He screamed that she wouldn't stop him from having his pleasures.

Christine stifled a scream and stumbled backwards, and felt the gun at her leg. This time, she had it. This time, he would not escape so easily.

Her hands trembled, but she swiftly drew it out, held it up with both hands, aimed and fired.

He choked, and collapsed, clutching his chest.

Christine raced over to the poor girl and began untying her arms. They were complicated knots, ones used in the rigging in the Opera House that were unfamiliar to her, she struggled and pulled while the girl silently weeped. Finally, they were undone, she turned back to Bouquet to bind him in her stead, but quickly realized there was no use in it.

She had shot him in the heart, he was already dead.

The poor silent girls sobs awoke Christine from the stupor this discovery had put her in, she turned round and gently helped her dress herself. She had been a quiet, but pretty thing, an easy target.

"This is not your fault." Christine murmured, holding her tightly to her chest and drying the girl's tears with her handkerchief. "Whatever anyone says, this is not your fault. No one wants this and heaven knows you never encouraged him. He's a terrible man and he can't hurt you anymore."

It was kept quiet, for the sake of propriety, Madame Giry and Christine arranged for the ballet girl to be taken to a nunnery. There she would be safe and respected, cared for a brought to the path of healing.

Bouqet was discreetly removed that night, his body was buried with no marker.

Her gun, which had long had six bullets, now had five. Technically, it should have been lighter. Now, in the hours that she stared at it in her apartment, it felt heavier than ever.

Once, Meg cornered her one day after rehearsal, her blue eyes tearing with worry. "Are you alright Christine?" She asked. "You've lost weight, and you never smile anymore, please." She grasped her hand. "Christine- you've got circles under your eyes, are you ill?"

Christine forced a smile and shrugged. "I haven't been sleeping well."

"Mother told me about Bouqet. You shouldn't feel guilty about Bouqet." Meg said severely. "He was a horrible man, and he would have done it again. I bet it wasn't the first time either." She added.

"I know." Christine shrugged. "I'm just- tired."

That night Madame Giry came to her house.

"I see you've indulged in your love of books." She remarked, staring at the two shelves that she had worked so hard to collect.

Christine looked up from her cup of tea. "I suppose, I never read them as often as I'd like."

There was an pregnant moment of silence.

Madame Giry stared at Christine for a time, then gave her a curt smile. "Someone's broken your heart." She finally said. "Someone you loved."

Christine sighed, her eyebrows pressed together, and she nodded.

"Well. That's your business, however, what is my business-" She pointed at Christine. "is how it's affected you, you're moping, you're sleep deprived and you're not taking care of yourself."

Christine nodded, and sipped more of her tea. "That's true." She admitted quietly.

"You need to pull yourself together." Madame Giry said, unsympathetically. "Stop tearing yourself apart."

"I'm not. I'm-" Christine said, setting her cup in her saucer. "I'm just missing him, he meant a lot to me." She pressed a hand to her chest. "I feel empty, like there's no emotion in my heart. I'm trying-" she admitted. "I'm trying to keep going but the emptiness just swallows my feelings." She set her tea down. "I don't know what to do." She admitted quietly.

Madame Giry watched her, tilted her head to the side. "Move in with us again. Staying in this box-" she gestured to her apartment. "is depressing. Move in with me and Meg again, she'll be glad to have you and so will I."

Christine bit her lip, looking at her tea. "I can't promise I'll be cheerful company. Being social at those dinners is taking all I have."

"That's not an issue." Madame Giry said. "I'm not doing this for myself."

So Christine packed her precious books, her lantern, the picture of her and the Giry's. Some of her furniture was sold, others were brought to the house. She'd sleep with Meg, in the attic in her own bed.

When they were finished moving, the apartment looked just as empty as she felt.

For a little while, she sat in it, seeing the dark room and remembering how excited she had been when she had first moved in, a year after she'd appeared in Paris. She had learned to sew in that year, and to cook and clean and crochet.

She'd been sad, her father's death had still hung over her, but she'd had Erik then, and the Giry's.

Now she sat, faintly remembering slowly saving to buy furniture, the feelings of excitment when she cleaned her own floor and shopped on her own, of having the pleasure of adding that one fine book to her collection every year.

The thought made her smile, and for the first time that emptiness didn't swallow it.

It had been a large chapter of her life, one that she had been proud to male.

Now she closed her eyes and forced herself to think forward. Now she had another chapter in her life beginning.

She stood and walked out of the door, leaving the empty room behind her.

**Edit: In the next draft, I'm planning to rewrite the scene Bouquet is killed so that she kills him because he's attacking her, trying to get her to tell him where the Phantom is. Especially since he saw her with him. I think this makes more sense overall and is less sudden to the story. Thanks! (Reviewing is always appreciated.)**


	13. Chapter 13

"I hate rain." Meg announced, she set a carpet bag on the floor, it squished.

Madame Giry looked up from scrubbing the floor. "Did you get everything on the list?" She asked, pulling her bucket closer to her.

Meg shook her head. "Everything but the food."

Christine looked up from her book and smiled softly. "Maybe tomorrow."

"Sure, but the rain is so annoying." Meg complained, pulling off her coat. "We used to have pretty snow, but then it had to rain, it's been raining off and on for three weeks."

"I'm just glad we got snow at all." Christine admitted. "We were lucky for a white Christmas."

"I wish it had stayed."

Madame Giry huffed, already working on the floor again. "Then it would have turned to brown sludge. Be careful not to drip on the floor." She added, as Meg came farther in the kitchen.

"You're are heartless maman." Said Meg, but grinned and held up the edges of her skirt until she reached the dining room.

"And get out of that soaking mess." Madame Giry called. "You'll catch your death of a cold."

But Meg was already running up into her room.

Madame Giry sighed and went back to scrubbing. "She has a boy that she doesn't want me to know about." She informed Christine. "I'll bet she spent too much time with him, and then the rain came and she didn't have time to get everything."

"We'll manage." Christine said, closing her book with a snap. "Do you want any help?" She asked, watching Madame Giry work at a stain.

"No no." She waved the cloth. "I'm fine."

"I can clean a floor quite well now you know." Christine informed her. "I'm not nearly as incompetent as I used to be."

"I know." She grumbled. "I wish Meg had gotten the food, I wanted to cook a chicken for Sunday."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with monsieur Khan would it?" Christine asked innocently.

"Shut up." Madame Giry snapped.

"He did say that he liked chicken in soy sauce last week, wasn't soy sauce on that list?"

"Not another word young lady." Madame Giry growled. "I may be old, but I'm still allowed a little romance."

"Meg is too." Christine said softly, tucking her book under her arm and standing. "She's seventeen. Soon she'll need to start thinking about getting married."

"She's a talented enough dancer to not need a husband to support her."

"That's not what I'm talking about." Christine replied. "I'm not saying that she needs to be a mother and start a family, I'm saying that her career will only take her so far, and after that, she'll be alone. You won't last forever."

Madame Giry looked over her shoulder. "Excuse me?"

Christine smile turned downward. "It happened to me." She revealed. "I had a career and my father. I wanted to get married, but thought there would be time later." She shook her head, rubbing her eyes. "Now my father is gone, and now it's too late."

Madame Giry stared at Christine, her eyes softened.

Feet pattered down the stairs, Meg appeared in the kitchen wearing dry clothes. "Mother-" she said, wringing her hands. "Mother I've got to tell you something."

"You spent time with that boy Victor." Madame Giry interrupted, turning and sitting cris cross on the floor. She threw her rag in her full bucket.

Meg winced, and looked at the floor. "Yes."

Madame Giry glanced at Christine, then at Meg, then sighed heavily. "If the rain clears up, you can go over tonight and ask him over for dinner tomorrow." Madame Giry told her. "And if you ever get another beau, I want to meet him too, understand?"

Meg's face changed rapidly from disbelief to shock and finally pure joy. "Oh yes mother! Thank you ever so much!" She giggled and rolled on the bottom of her feet.

"Do you think I made a good impression?" Victor asked while Christine positioned his feet properly.

"Yes, you did very well." Christine told him, tapping his ankle to move it backwards a spell. "You stayed calm and was very respectful."

"Meg's a real bricky girl." He told Christine. "I like her."

"She is." Christine agreed. "Very tough in her own way."

They both winced as a loud screech and fast Spanish screaming came from the stage.

"Ah, Carlotta's back from her visit to Spain." Christine stood and glanced at the stage. "I- I did hope she's stay away."

"That's where she went?" Victor wrinkled his nose. "I'd hoped she was dead."

"No, just went to visit some family." Christine absently watched her scream at the poor girl who had stepped on her skirt. "She's not a bad singer." She added.

Victor snorted.

Christine turned around. "I'm serious! Her voice is very good, but she has no tact, and she doesn't understand the concept of 'less is more'."

"I'd bet you'd do a better job then her." Victor added, experimenting with the foot position she had shown him.

Christine gave him a wry smile but didn't answer, instead she watched Carlotta some more.

"Hey, Mademoiselle Daae, may I leave?" Victor asked. "I'll practice the new position, I promise."

Christine started. "Oh, yes, you may."

He jogged back on the stage, joining the crew again. Christine glanced at him briefly before returning to Carlotta, her lips pressed tightly together as she watched the women scream one final insult at the poor girl before moving on.

"She's awful isn't she." A voice said behind her.

Christine spun, and for the first time in weeks felt a real smile spread across her face. "Emily!" She cried.

There she was, in all her glory with rosy cheeks and a wide smile. "Christine! I missed you."

She was prevented from saying more when Christine drew her arms around her and held her tightly. "How have you been?" Christine asked, pressing her lips into Emily's hair.

They parted, Emily shrugged. "Marriage is-" she bit her lip and sighed. "Oh it's wonderful Christine. Adam is so lovely and caring and ever so much better than-" she hesitated. "Well anyways, I love it."

Christine grinned wider. "I must get Madame Giry and Meg." She exclaimed. "They will be so glad to see you."

"And you haven't been visiting me!" Emily chided gently. "I had hoped you would come over at least once."

"I'm sorry, I've been-" Christine hesitated. "busy." She finished. "A lot has happened."

"I'll bet!" Emily laughed. "You went the New Years ball! You still have to tell me everything."

"I'll do that eventually." Christine assured her. "Much else has happened as well."

Emily stopped just a few yards short of the ballet dancers and Madame Giry. "Christine, are you alright? You're so pale, and your thinner than I remember."

"I'm doing better." Christine murmured. "I've stopped losing weight."

"Losing weight!" Emily grasped her arm. "Christine what happened while I was away?"

"What happened?" She demanded. "I've known you for six years and I've never seen you so rattled and weak."

Christine sighed. "Can't you guess? I went to the ball with my friend."

Emily's face slowly transformed from worry to confusion to anger. "He rejected you?" She said angrily. "Why, you're the most wonderful clever person I know. How dare he!"

"No no. He was right." Christine told her, grasping Emily's shoulders, trying to calm her . "It was for the best, I assure you."

"For the best." Emily snapped. "Are you serious?"

"He- he was not ready for marriage. He couldn't give me a happy marriage so he decided to cut it off." Christine smiled wearily. "Please, don't hate him."

"I'm furious at him, he broke you. That much is obvious." Emily growled.

"I'm healing." Christine told her. "I moved in with the Girys. I'll be fine." She took Emily's hand and squeezed it. "Please, all I need is time."

"I- I was so excited for you." Emily whispered. "I thought that you might get married, and Christine-" She grasped Christine's hand and squeezed it. "it's wonderful, you deserve it of all people."

"Thank you." Christine smiled gently. "I'm sure I'll be fine alone thought."

Emily glanced at Christine, not quite believing her, but she nodded. "If that's what you want."

Relief filled Christine as they jogged began jogging across the stage.

Emily gave Christine's hand an extra tug and they broke into a full run-

Emily crashed straight into someone entering the stage from the wings, the person let out a loud insult in Spanish, crashing backwards on the floor.

Carlotta stared in anger at Christine, helping Emily stand. "What do you dink you were do'ing?" She snapped. "You could 'ave killed me!" She lifted herself off the floor, dropping her skirt onto the floor, she stamped her foot on the floor childishly. "Speak! I demand an answer."

Christine gave a curtsy and began to apologize, but Emily snapped back, "Oh be quiet you old hag. We couldn't have killed you."

Christine spun on Emily. "What do you think you're doing?" She asked her. "Insults will not improve anything."

"O please," Carlotta snapped back. "'ad I broken something." She pressed a hand to her forehead, her eyes fluttering. "My career could have been ended forever."

A crowd was forming now, rehearsing actors, and the ballet girls. Madame Giry and Meg watched in surprise. Christine looked round at the crowd uneasily.

"Oh shut it, your just a complaining little-" Christine clapped her hand over Emily's mouth, halting her train of insults.

Carlotta turned beet red, her painted lips pressing together tightly. "Vell." She said swiftly. "Coming from a girl who aslept vith a viscount, that does not mean much."

Christine whirled to Carlotta then, pushing Emily behind her. "Well you're a screaming toad!" She shouted, glancing at the crowd nervously.

Carlotta took a step back, surprise written on her face. "Anaexcuse me?" She whispered, but recovered quickly. "I ave heard about you. Perfect little kind Christine. I ave heard all da rumors about you." She smirked. "After all,vat man would marry a women who couldn't provide a 'im with a son?"

Emily turned to Christine, pale, the crowd gasped. "You can't have children?" She asked.

"Oh yes." Carlotta gloated. "A'fter all, no man would ave her, she vill soon be an old maid and die alone."

Christine clenched her fists, anger bubbling inside her, suddenly she allowed it to go free. "Well at least I can sing!" She hissed. "I suppose no one would take you if your rich Spanish father didn't bribe them."

"You dare to claim to be superior than I?" Carlotta lifted her chin. "I am the great Carlotta, my name is spoken by every tongue in Paris."

Christine pushed Emily behind her. "Only because they have never heard quality since the day you were born." She snapped back.

The crowd oohed, there were a few acknowledgments called out, and a several laughed.

"I adoubt you could best me." Carlotta challenged, stepping forward and placing a hand on her hip, she struck a pose that a model couldn't have rivaled.

"I doubt I couldn't." Christine pushed back. "You're auditioning for the lead role, shall I as well?"

"Yes. So dey can all see that I-" Carlotta pointed to her heaving chest. "Am the best."

"Very well." Christine lifted her head and stared down at Carlotta from the bridge of her nose. "I hope you learn the supporting role well." Then she spun on her heels, grasping Emily's arm and pulling her down the hall, carefully avoiding the crowd that had formed. They parted to let her through, some opened mouthed and shocked, others grinning and winking and still others staring at her like was crazy.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Christine dropped Emily's arm and leaned helplessly against the wall.

"Oh, what have I done?" She whispered fiercely. "What have I done?"


	14. Chapter 14

The backstage of the Opera House was a wandering mess of sets, props and ropes. Humans wandered along the edges, waiting for their turn to audition.

Christine sat on a crate, wearing her best dress again, reading a book while leaning against the wall with a leg crossed comfortably.

Meg sat next to her, in her ballet skirt and shoes. In the corner of Christine's eye she saw Meg's hands picking at the edges of her skirt, slowly pulling apart the seams.

Christine looked down from her book to reach out to stop her from unstiching her skirt too badly. "Darling, your going to have to fix that later." She reminded her. "Best leave it alone."

Meg nodded, reaching up to fiddle with her hair. "You're so calm." She whispered. "You're the one auditioning and you're so calm."

"This is nothing new to me." Christine gave a rue smile. "I used to do a lot of auditions, I learned to be very comfortable with them."

"I do a lot of auditions too!" Meg insisted. "I audition for the lead Ballerina roles for every Opera."

"I used to do three or a four a week." Christine smiled and sat back, listening to a singer onstage.

"Three or four." Meg looked startled. "But-"

"I moved around a lot, trying to find a place that could take me." Christine shrugged, then winced as a women onstage tried and failed to hit a higher note. "Oh, I do wish she'd chosen another song, she's more of an alto."

"What are you Christine?" Meg asked.

"Oh, definitely a soprano." Christine said firmly, turning back to her reading, she turned a page absently. "I can go very high."

"I do hope you get the part." Meg said urgently, ignoring Christine's cue to end the conversation. Or perhaps she was unaware of it. "I've had enough of strutting, squawking Carlotta."

Christine smoothed out a page. "Her singing is decent."

"You keep on saying that." Meg said, giving Christine an odd look. "Why do you keep on saying that?"

"It's about the only thing I can say about her that is kind." Christine allowed herself a prim smile. "I don't believe in insulting others."

"I heard that yesterday you were pretty insulting to Carlotta." Meg slyly reminded her.

"That was different." She turned another page.

"Oh?"

"It was in the defense of Emily. I was trying to direct the attention to me." Christine shrugged. "No moral rule can hold true all the time. I believe, and still believe, that yesterday was a proper time to break that rule."

Meg frowned. "What?"

Christine looked up from her reading and gave Meg a tired, but kind, smile. "Killing is wrong, yes?"

"Of course." Meg said quickly.

"And those who kill ought to be put in jail?"

Meg nodded. "Yes, yes of course, then gasped suddenly. "Oh- Christine I'm sorry."

"It's quite alright." Christine placed a sheet of paper in her place and closed her book. "Let's say, someone is attacking you, and you fight back and killed them. Now is that wrong?"

"I- I don't think so." Meg admitted.

"Exactly." Christine informed Meg with a wink. "In general, I don't like to kill people. But if killing others in required in the defense of myself and the rest of the human race, I will do so."

Meg nodded. "I think I understand what you mean now."

"Good." Christine opened her book again and began reading. This time Meg took the hint and remained silent. For a few moments she enjoyed peace as she read.

"You're always reading these days." Another voice said cheerfully.

Christine looked up, and gave Emily a smile. "How are you darling?" She asked softly. "Shouldn't you be resting at home? You have a baby now to think of." She added.

Emily waved her hand. "I walked to the Opera House nearly every day for six years, and I'll do it as much as I like now." She smiled. "Besides, I wanted to be here for your audition, I've never heard you sing."

"It's true then?" Meg leaned forward and grinned. "You're pregnant?"

"Oh yes." Emily's cheeks tinged red. "Adam is very excited, he's asked a friend of his to build a cradle, and he's working hard to make money so he, or she, can go to school." Her eyes twinkled at Christine. "I made sure that he knew that was what I wanted."

Christine nodded. "I'm glad."

Meg smiled. "I remember Christine teaching me how to read and write and explaining how the world worked. I thought she knew everything, she was so smart."

"Education and true intelligence are very different things." Christine remarked. "I have education."

"You are very smart though." Emily insisted. "Listen to yourself, you could be a Greek philosopher."

"If I had been born in Greece, I would have been a wife, slaving away to my husband and bearing children whilst scrubbing floors. I wouldn't have had the means nor the time to-" Christine halted mid sentence, Carlotta passed by, giving Christine and her companions a glare.

"To come up with my own philosophy." Christine finished.

"It's her turn to go onstage." Emily said. "I saw the list."

"Very good." Christine murmured. "I'm a few spots after her."

"Not a lot of people are auditioning for the lead." Meg said.

"Not many people expect to get it." Christine remarked and tucked her book under her arms. "I'd best warm up now." 

"Christine Daae, auditioning for lead singer." A tired voice echoed from the stage.

Christine walked out to center stage and curtsied. "Good morning monsieur's!" She called. "How are you this morning?"

"Very well, thank you mademoiselle." One of them called back. She recognized the managers, and a few men she didn't recognize still scribbling a few notes from the last audition. One of the managers glanced up, and his eyes widend.

"Mademoiselle Daae?" He called out. "What are you doing?"

"Auditioning Monsieur." Christine replied with a warm smile and a nod of her head.

"I-well." He sat back and began fiddling with his beard. "Do you really think you can get this part?"

"I don't know Monsieur." Christine answered. "I guess I'll find out."

"Very well." He looked down at his paper. "What will you be singing?" He asked politely.

"Casta Diva." She replied. "A shortened version, of course."

"Yes, well, begin." He smiled tightly and pressed his pencil to the paper.

Christine quickly checked her posture, and then took a deep breath, and sang.

It was a slow and sweet song, full of emotion, her strength in singing. They were the last words of a women going to her death, Christine poured into it all her feelings of pain, of wanting and waiting for death.

People stopped in their tracks, stage hands gathered to the wings to see who made such a noise, the general chatter in the auditorium faded to make room for the new and sweet sound.

Christine felt a smile appear on her face, feeling the music spread through her. As she lifted her head for dramatic effect, she nearly choked when she saw Erik.

He was there, in the rafters, not even bothering to hide himself. His cape draped over the many beams, his full mask never once leaving her. She could almost hear his sigh of relief, of surprise, but relief all the same.

Memories flooded into her memory, this piece was an easier song, one that Erik had given her during her first few lessons. Then he had spent the next year perfecting it, despite the reasonable breaks in between practicing, by the end of that year, she had hated it with a passion.

Now she enjoyed it greatly, and it flowed from her mouth easily, a familiar reminder of lessons and music and-

Something in her stomach twisted, and she forced herself to look foreword again. Still, she felt his eyes burrowing into her, watching her preform in front of a crowd for the first time in ten years.

Then she finished the song, holding it out for dramatic effect, letting it fade into the corners of the room.

Then she ended it.

There was silence, pure silence, a crowd holding it's breath, waiting for more but finding none.

Then a judge, one she didn't know, began clapping. Another did as well, hand after hand joined them, making it grow into a loud applause.

Everyone was applauding. From the maids with their dusty or soapy hands to her fellow auditioneers with sheets of music in their hands.

She heard whistles of appreciation, and a cry for another song. And that still resounding applause, going on and on and on.

The judges stood, one had tears streaming down his face, the managers looking like someone had knocked them on the heads but still shouting as loudly as the rest.

Christine smiled at the familiar scene, and bowed low, bending her knees downwards and lifting her skirts to compensate, as she rose, she looked up again towards Erik for approval.

He was clapping more enthusiastically than any of them.


	15. Chapter 15

"You never told me why you never told me you could sing." Meh commented two days after the audition. It was Monday, and audition results had been announced.

Christine didn't answer, her hands ran along the script she had been given just a few minuets before.

Her eyes weren't looking at them, she had known that she would have gotten the part. She had known as soon as she had seen Erik clapping his hands with the rest of them.

She was looking at the title, centered and written in large scrawling letters.

Don Yuan Triumphant.

"Christine, what is it? You're acting odd."

Christine looked up from the script and gave Meg a pained smile. "Please Meg, not now." She whispered.

Meg blinked, then nodded and went to join her mother, who was calling for the ballerina's to begin rehearsal.

Christine suddenly began walking away from the ballerina's, clutching the script to her chest. Her lips pressed themselves together, her eyes hard with worry and anger.

How dare he.

How dare he!

Even when they no longer met, he just couldn't seem to stay out of her life.

It wasn't his fault really, obviously he had ordered the managers to put on his own play before he had known that Christine would audition. Of course he would make sure that she would get the lead. She would have done the same herself had the roles been switched, she had been the best singer, the best singers get the lead roles.

Now what on earth was she going to do?

"Brat." Someone muttered. Christine looked up to see Carlotta's venomous glare as they passed in the halls. Carlotta, Christine noted, had no script at all.

She had heard that some old favorite's of the Opera, those who had not musch talent but much influence and money, had been sacked. It was whispered that the Opera Ghost would no longer stand those who bribed their way to the top.

Christine knew it was because he only wanted the best for his Opera. His Opera. The one he had found a new muse for not so long ago.

"Stupid, stupid idea." She muttered. "Why couldn't it have been Faust? I don't even like Faust."

Her hand found a doorknob and she stumbled into her dressing room, a few candles lit the room. Despite the fact that she never remembered lighting them, Christine sat on a nearby stool and slapped the script on her dressing room table.

"Erik." She snapped. "Erik where on earth are you?"

There was no answer, if he had lit her candles he was long gone now. Christine groaned, leaning her face into her hands.

A gentle knock at the door made her jump, carefully wiping her eyes she shouted for the knocker to come in.

"I think you and I need to talk." A gentle voice called from behind her.

Christine groaned and turned to face Nadir. "I've had enough of you and your inquisitive questions."

He gave her a grin and held up his hands in defense. "Now, now, you're starting to sound like Erik."

Christine frowned. "Listen, Erik had nothing to do with me auditioning."

"I don't believe that." Nadir's voice turned cold. "He only wants the best for his opera, and even I-" he pointed his finger at Christine. "tone deaf as I am, could tell that you were by far the best singer."

"Nadir, this is none of your business." Christine frowned. "I can take care of myself, if I need help, I'll ask."

"If Erik-"

"Erik has done nothing." Christine hissed. "He and I mutually agreed to no longer see each other a month ago. I auditioned because I wanted to. Or rather-" she admitted a little guiltily, "I auditioned because I told Carlotta I would. We were arguing."

Nadir paused, pursing his lips together, his eyes narrowing as he examined her coldly. Christine gave him a glare and tapped her foot impatiently.

"Erik is a dangerous man." Nadir said quietly.

"I know."

"If you need anything, let me know." Nadir informed her. "I'd be more than happy to help."

Christine's mouth quirked into a one sided smile. "Thank you. I will."

The brown skin round his eyes crinkled, he grinned, warm and inviting again. "Thank you, Mademoiselle Daae."

Christine raised an eyebrow. "Has anyone told you that you are incredibly inquisitive?"

Nadir laughed softly. "That, and in much less polite ways."

"Well, they were right."

His green eyes twinkled. "I know."

"I suppose I'll see you next Sunday?"

"Of course, good day." He nodded his head.

"Good day."

He left, closing the door behind him with a click.

Christine spun on one foot to glare dramatically at the script on the table, and suddenly she knew just what to do with it.

"Dis is an insult! I vill not stand for this, not only does zat... zat ballet rat get my part, but I do not receive a part at all. I will not stand for it, I will not!"

Madame Carlotta's voice echoed through the hallway as Christine passed by the manager's office. She froze at the sound, and paused just outside the door, waiting patiently for the managers to finish with Carlotta.

"And dis play, no one will come and see it, it is an insult to music. Without me, no one will come. You need me, you need me." A sob escaped from the women's mouth.

"I-I'm sorry." One of the managers stammered bravely. "Please, try to understand, the Ghost-"

"The Ghost is playing tricks on you!" Carlotta snorted. "E- e is playing tricks on you. Vy vill you not call the police? E is a menace."

"We agree, but we must comply with his demands. Christine Daae will play the lead, but you will have your place back as soon as we are finished with-"

"Zat is no excuse. Zomething 'as to be done. I vill have my part back-"

Christine suddenly shifted her script in her arms and stepped into the doorway. "Well, you can have it." She announced.

The managers froze, Carlotta turned to see Christine. "Vat are you talking about?" She snapped.

"You can have my part." Christine said firmly, she held out the script. "I only wanted to prove I could. I don't really want to be in the play."

Carlotta turned a pasty white. "An you would not even take the part!" She snarled. "An the people av de Opera call me selfish."

Christine shrugged. "I have no interest in being in this play. If it had been Carmen or Faust, maybe... but not this. Not this." She gave them a pained smile.

The managers stared at her blankly, one of them finally gathered themselves together and frowned. "Absolutely not."

Christine glared. "Excuse me?"

"You signed a contract when you auditioned Mademoiselle Daae." He said firmly, mustache twitching with every word. "The Opera Ghost has specifically instructed that you take your place at the lead, and we dare not go against his word."

"Well, I don't want it." Christine insisted. "Here," she held out the script. "Carlotta doesn't have to do it, there's this lovely Soprano in the chorus that will do well-"

The other Manger gave her a smile and also shook his head. "We dare not go against his words." He said quietly. "And you would be wise to do the same."

"Vell I sink you're all cowards!" Carlotta snapped. "I am disgusted. I e'pect a full apology shortly." She stormed out of the room.

Christine ignored her and slapped the script on the table. "You can't force me to play this part." She whispered.

"Daae, please understand, we are trying to do our best to keep everyone safe."

Christine bristled. "Safe?"

The manager with a mustache gave a small sad smile. "Ah, well. There have been some rather bad threats should we disobey. Please, Daae, we need you to play this part. It is very important."

Christine frowned father. "Surly... surly not?" Surly Erik wouldn't...

The second one nodded. "I'm afraid so, listen, in a month there is a publicity ball that we will be hosting. We want the lead singer to attend to preform." He hesitated. "Can you dance?" He asked timidly. "That is to say, ballroom dancing?"

"Yes, I can dance ball room dances quite well." Christine replied stiffly.

"Then we expect you to attend." He finished.

The first manager smiled. "We will send a carriage to pick you up. Please, Daae, take this part. We will explain more at this ball."

Christine eyed them both, they seemed earnest, even frightened. The first manager gently picked up her script from the table and held it out to Christine. "Please, Mademoiselle Daae. Take the part, it is very important to us."

Hands trembling slightly, she Christine reached out and took the script.

"And if you have any other concerns" the Mustached manager said. "please, come to us."

Christine gave him a wry smile and curtsied. "Thank you, I will."

"A ball!" Meg's face broke into a grin as she pulled down her stockings. "Oh Christine you're so lucky. I've always wanted to go to a ball."

Christine shrugged while unhooking her corset. "I suppose."

Meg held the loose stocking to her cheek and sighed dreamily. "There will be dancing and food and all the famous people will be there." She glanced at Christine. "You really should wear that at night too if you want a thinner waist." She added.

"I know." Christine pulled it off and tossed it on her bed. "I'm beyond caring at this point."

Meg laughed. "I suppose you don't need it, you're already so pretty that any man would be glad to have you."

"Hmm." Christine picked up her nightgown and disappeared behind the curtain they had set up. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"I hope you have a good time at the ball." Meg told Christine as she stepped out from the curtain.

"Thank you." Christine whispered.

Meg disappeared behind the curtain, singing a ballroom song just slightly flat. Christine watched her in mild amusement, then sat on her bed, slowly she placed her corset on the trunk at the end of her bed.

Her foot touched paper.

Christine looked down, and saw the package she had shoved under her bed to forget about. Gently she pulled apart the wrinkled brown paper and looked at the green silk underneath.

Perhaps she would find a use for Erik's gift after all.


	16. Chapter 16

"Ah, mademoiselle Christine, I'm so very glad you came!" The mustached manager turned to face Christine as she approached him with a broad smile.

The second manager was somewhere across the room, talking casually to some Viscount. The first glanced across to the other for a moment, then slid his eyes back to her. "You look very well." He informed her, reaching up to straighten his tie.

Christine bowed her head, murmuring a thank you for the compliment and the carriage. It had been a nice pleasure to have someone assist her inside, with the promise of taking you somewhere that you normally would have had to walk miles to reach.

"I- yes. Well, you will need to be introduced." The manager told her, gingerly he held out his arm. "Allow me, please." He added.

Christine gave him a patient smile, and he began to guide her from person to person with the expertise of an experienced high class gentleman. Several dozen faces came and went, with Christine smiling and informing patrons and interested investors of the opera that the new production was going splendidly.

And it was, really, Christine told herself. It was just that she had forgotten how busy being in the play could be.

It didn't help that she was the lead lady now, and that she had to run through song after song, time after time. It had been so long since she had done this.

Erik made it ten times worse, because he was being so particular.

He always had had a heavy hand in casting and details. But now no incompetence was allowed whatsoever, the Orchestra was completely rearranged, the lead male had been sacked as unceremoniously as Carlotta and replaced with a far better member of the chorus.

Hourly notes were sent with a long list of critiques and "suggestions" for change. This singer was flat, this set piece must be repainted and moved, this costume must be changed.

Even the dancers suffered from his endless criticisms, where before they had been mostly exempt.

Only Christine stayed relatively unscathed, with only the occasional reminder to practice and a gentle correction here and there.

But of course she didn't tell the smiling higher ups that. She told them of the beautiful sets, and the costumes the seamstresses were furiously sewing. And the music? Well, the music was splendid, like nothing they had ever heard before.

That, at least, she felt she could comment positively on.

Champagne was passed round, the manager offered Christine a glass but she waved him off. "I don't drink." She explained. He nodded, looking puzzled, but stayed silent while sipping his glass.

Finally when she had been introduced to everyone worth knowing, Christine was allowed to sit on a chair on the sidelines to catch her breath.

Gingerly the manager sat beside her and finished the glass of champagne in one swallow. "I suppose I should tell you why we were so insistent on you having that role." He said.

Christine tilted her head towards him. "Oh?"

"I apologize about our behavior." He said, waving over a servant to take the empty glass. "You're right, you should be able to quit at any time."

Christine smiled, and nodded to encourage him.

"But we need you to play the role, you see," He hesitated, then turned to look at her directly in the eye. "Mademoiselle Carlotta wanders why we don't call the police, but we have." He said firmly. "They have investigated, and have decided that the best way to handle this is through trickery."

Christine's stomach plummeted, she gripped the dress, twisting it on her finger. "Really?"

"I know it seems silly, with all the mysteries things that have happened." He continued. "But we believe that it is not a ghost that haunts us at all, but a clever man. We intend to catch him."

"Really?" Christine whispered.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier." He murmured. "But I wasn't sure- well. He could be listening anywhere in the Opera House. We're trying not to mention it around there."

"What makes you think that he's a man?" Her voice sounded foreign to her, small and scared.

"What ghost needs money?" The manager answered grimly. "I have examined you closely Mademoiselle Daae, you seem be a women with a sound mind, and I believe you deserve to know." He took a deep breath. "On the night of the first performance, twelve officers will dress as rich gentleman, each with their own box. When the performance begins, and he is sitting in his box, they will draw and shoot box 5. One of them is bound to hit him."

She couldn't breath, her mind was spinning, she licked her lips and gave him a pained smile. "And where do I fit into this?" There was that small frightened voice again.

Blood on her hands, blood on her dress.

"The only times when he is not in his box during the performance is when we have not followed his commands." The manager said softly. "He's off causing mischief. We are trying to follow his instructions to the letter, so that he might feel satisfied enough to watch the performance rather than trying to hurt it."

"That's very clever." Christine said, releasing her dress and twisting it around another finger.

"I just can't figure out why he feels the need to do this!" The manager huffed, twisting his own finger round his mustache. "He's obviously knowledgeable about Opera, and goodness knows we need the help." He shook his head. "But now he's gone too far, he's threatened us and we believe he's already killed one man."

He glanced at Christine. "Ah, but of course, you don't want to hear about that. I'm sorry."

Christine shrugged. "It matters not to me. Speak however you wish."

He paused to stare at her for a time, and then said. "I never would have guessed that you could sing so well."

"Most ballet instructors don't." She tore off her gloves, carefully folding them and unfolding them.

"Truly, you have a gift, why did you not audition sooner?"

Christine pressed her lips together and gave a heavy sigh, she looked down at the half folded gloves.

"I have no love for fame."

"No love for fame-" The man balked. "Mademoiselle, you would be great! No Opera House will refuse you after this, if all goes well."

Christine glanced at him, a wry smile appearing on her face. "That is exactly why I don't enjoy it. I don't want crowds of adoring fans, nor people begging for me to partake in their Opera's and plays." She looked down at her glove. "I want people around me, not crowds, people who respect me, and whom I respect in turn."

The manager nodded. "I see." He gestured for a servant, he grasped another glass of champagne. "I hope all goes well for you either way. I believe that this will change everything, no matter how this ends."

Christine nodded. "I agree. I hope the best for you as well."

Suddenly the manager perked, looking across the room. "I believe someone is calling for me." He said. "Excuse me for a moment."

He stood, leaving Christine alone.

She watched him in mild curiosity, watched him approach the second manager, who was gesturing wildly towards his partner. Beside him looking mildly bemused was a sandy haired young man, perhaps twenty or twenty one.

Christine frowned, he looked vaguely familiar, but perhaps it was-

She sucked in her breath, her fingers gripped her gloves and she stood resolutely up. Her feet walked across the room, Christine's eyes never leaving that smiling young face.

Blonde hair, small mustache, blue eyes...

His nose was crooked, as if someone had punched it out of alignment some time ago. His suit was fine tailoring, but a little tight around the shoulders, he wore no gloves and his skin was heavily tanned.

"-he's agreed to help us, with his influence the police should-" the second manager froze when he saw Christine step next to him. He glanced at her, then the boy, whom she was still staring at.

Suddenly, Christine smiled brightly, and held out her hand to shake. "Christine Daae." She said brightly. "Lead singer at the Opera House currently."

The man examined her hand, then gingerly shook it. "Raoul, Raoul de Chagney, officer in the navy."

Christine smile grew more forced, her stomach twisting in horror as she stared at him.

"Pleasure." She said through her teeth.


	17. Chapter 17

"Oh but Christine, the flowers are lovely. Raoul simply must fancy you, no boy sends a girl roses without romantic intent."

Christine gave Meg a strained smile, gripping the bouquet of roses in her hand. "Yes, well, he's a Vicomte."

"Well, yes." Meg sighed. "Oh but just imagine what could be, you're so good at that."

"I could." Christine sighed, placing the roses on her dressing room table. "I suppose I'll need a vase, they're already wilting."

"Well after your performance, you'll need dozens of vases for flowers." Meg giggled. "Oh Christine, they're going to love you."

"Mmm." Christine began unbuttoning her costume, pulling it down from her shoulders. "I see."

"You're not listening." Meg accused, watching her button the costume up again.

"Mm. No." She hung the costume on a hook. "Not really."

"Christine." Meg chastised. "Doesn't being a star excite you?"

Christine sighed, reaching behind herself she began to untie her corset strings, carefully she let them loosen. "Well-" she grunted, experimentally pulling and tightening the strings.

_Twelve men, guns hidden under spottless suits, smiling and chattering with other unsuspecting guests._

"I try not to think much of it."

_The crack of guns as Erik staggered back in his chair, blood spilling from his chest._

"Christine...?"

_Dust in her lungs, blood on her hands and aching knees. Blood on the satin dress._

"Christine are you alright?"

_Where was her father? Where was he?_

Christine's hands gripped the table tightly.

_Splinters pulling more blood out of her flesh, dust filling the wounds. A cry for help, for her father, for anyone._

_She was alone in a world of broken steel, concrete and dust._

_Trapped in a falling building as the screams of the dying filled her ears._

"Christine wake up!"

Hands shook her shoulders, Christine blinked, trying to evaporate the vision in her eyes.

_Breath in, 1, 2, 3..._

"Papa." She whispered, swallowed and closed her eyes, shaking the vision from her brain. "Where's Papa?"

"I don't know." A voice wailed her in ear.

_Dust in her lungs, her hands holding the phone out for light._

"It can't happen again." Christine whispered. "Never again, it's over, it can't come back."

"What?"

Slowly Christine began singing under her breath, closing and opening her eyes, trying to rid herself of the vision.

_Blood on her hands, blood streaking from her face, dropping on her perfect satin gown._

_"_Focus on the notes." Christine whispered. "The song is what matters."

Her throat drew out more notes, beautiful and silvery like her gown.

_Her bloodstained satin gown._

She closed her mouth and felt a tear escape from her eye. She gasped, surprised when she didn't cough.

_Breath out. 1, 2, 3_

Her hands clenched someones arm.

"That is Meg's arm." Christine whispered, her hands felt the fabric of her petticoat. "This is cotton." She said, making circles in the fabric with her thumb. "You made this a year ago."

_Blood._

_"_There is no blood." Christine said sharply. "There is no blood, there is no bomb. You are safe, you are in the Opera House. You are safe."

_Blood spilling from Bouquet's chest, bulging eyes as he stared at her in shock._

_Erik eyes widening, blood dripping from his face, from his chest, from his hands._

Christine whimpered.

_The life fading from his eyes, she watching helplessly as he died, blood dripping from her own hands. Her gun sprawled on the floor, empty of it's bullets._

"No." She whispered. "No no no no no."

_Dust in her lungs, choking her, trying to kill her-_

Water fell from the sky, splashing and roaring around her ears. Christine sputtered, choking and gasping, her memories vanished.

She wiped her eyes gently, her vision clearing.

Meg was staring at her with a bucket in hand. She dropped it, landing on the floor with a thud, then she burst into tears.

"I'm sorry." She cried. "I didn't know what to do, you were so distraught and there was nothing... oh Christine are you going mad?"

Christine blinked. "That was drinking water wasn't it?" She asked shakily, slowly shaking away the last remnants of memories. Finally gaining enough strength to push them away.

"Yes, yes." Meg rubbed away a tear. "I wouldn't- Oh Christine!" She gave a sob and jumped on Christine, wrapping her arms around her neck and pressed her face into Christine's soaked shoulder. "Oh that was horrible. What happened?"

"Just a few bad memories." Christine whispered, hugging back the warm comforting Meg. "Come now, they're gone now. You needn't worry."

Meg nodded, pulling away her soaked face.

Christine looked down at her wet clothes. "Well at least only my underthings are wet." She joked.

Meg giggled and hiccuped, then she gasped. "Christine, those are the underthings you got for Christmas!"

Christine blushed, holding up one edge of her petticoat. "Well, they are very comfortable." She admitted. "I don't have any other things here though. It's going to be a long walk home."

"Oh I'll go run and get your things." Meg said earnestly. "It's my fault they're wet anyhow."

"You don't have too."

"I want to." Meg looked down at her own wet top. "I'm less wet than you."

"Thank you, I would very much appreciate it." Christine giggled. "You'll save my reputation. I could see the headlines, 'Lead Opera Singer Leaves Soaking Wet, Has She Lost Her Mind?'"

Meg smiled. "You just wait, I'll run home and be right back." She dashed to the door.

"Don't forget your coat, especially in this weather." Christine called as she squeezed through the door and closed it behind her. At the sound of it closing she slumped in a nearby chair and shivered.

How long had been since she had lost control of her memories? Years, she had long dealt with them.

_Erik laying on a floor, eyes closed and cold, laying in a coffin with arms crossed._

Christine whimpered, but took a deep breath and sent it away. It wouldn't happen, it couldn't happen.

She wouldn't let them.

A knock at the door made Christine's head jerk up. Hurriedly she grasped a dressing robe and wrapped it around herself.

She walked to the door while tying the sashes and pulled it open.

Raoul was there, smiling brightly as the sun. He wore a suit, but it's fine effect was rather spoiled by it's wrinkled and the fact it was a little small for him.

"Oh- Raoul." Christine gave him a pained smile. "Now is not the time."

He wilted, like a flower left in the dark. "I-" he glanced behind her and brightened when he saw the flowers on her table. "I wanted to ask if you liked the flowers."

"Yes, they're lovely." Christine pursed her lips. "I suppose you want something else?" She asked.

"I- I just-" Raoul smiled sheepishly. "I was just wondering if you remembered me."

Christine blinked. "Remember what?"

"Remember-" he looked away, embarrassed. "You know, we used to play together, as kids."

Christine laughed, but it came out wrong, something between a giggle and a nervous sigh. "I think you mistook me for someone else."

Raoul squirmed. "You broke my nose once." He said, rubbing it ruefully. "I tried to kiss you."

Christine felt her face pale, she reached foreword and grasped his shoulder and pulled him in the door. She closed it behind her and faced him grimly.

"How did you get here?" She hissed, ignoring the shocked look on his face.

"I-in a carriage?" He stammered.

"No no." Christine ran her hands through her hair, dripping water droplets onto the floor. "Here, in- this time?"

"I-ah." Raoul frowned. "I'm not sure-"

"You really don't know?" Christine asked him, giving him a glare.

"N-no."

She relaxed, sighing while griping the doorframe. "I'm afraid you have the wrong person." She opened the door again. "You're free to leave."

"Christine- that was incredibly improper."

"I think you'll fine I don't care about what is proper or not." Christine said firmly. "I'm truly sorry though, even that was crossing a line for me."

Raoul glanced at her, then at the door. "Did I do something wrong?"

Christine shook her head. "No no. I thought-" she stopped to take a deep breath. "Please, this is not a good time."

He walked towards the door, shakily turning once he had crossed the doorway. "I enjoyed your performance last night.

Everyone was very impressed." He said politely.

"Oh, thank you." Christine wrinkled her nose. "What happened to your suit?"

He glanced down at himself and grinned. "Oh, I've been at sea for the past," he paused, counting under his breath. "Two years, and I gained muscles that I didn't have when this suit was made." He shrugged. "We're still fitting my new ones. As for the wrinkles, I'm just not used to suits anymore, it'll be a few months before I'll walk in a neat suit again."

Christine pursed her lips, that explained his tan.

Raoul hesitated, then looked down at the floor and turned beat red. "May I take you out to dinner, say, tomorrow?" He stammered. "Even if you aren't, well. Even if we didn't play together as children, I'd still like to... well. What do you say?" He looked up earnestly, swallowing and glancing occasionally at the doorframe.

"I'm sorry Raoul. No." Christine said gently.

He frowned, nodded his head gently. "Thank you, anyhow, Good day mademoiselle Daae."

Christine watched him walk dejectedly down the hallway, desperately trying to ignore the clench in her stomach. He looked like a poor puppy, having been refused his master.

**Apologies for a lack of updates. I've actually written a few chapters that I've been keeping in just in case. I'm actually writing chapter 21 at this moment, but struggling dreadfully. So I've decided to post this to keep you all entertained and to buy me some writing time.**


	18. Chapter 18

"Christine!"

Christine, having finished a rehearsal and had been going to her dressing room, turned to see Raoul dashing down a hallway towards her, a grin displaying on his face.

He stopped in front of her, panting slightly.

"How are you?" Christine asked politely.

"Missing the sea." Raoul said wistfully. "That's where you see the best sunsets."

Christine nodded, pulling the edges if her costume up.

"Anyway, I was wondering-"

"No." Christine said shortly. "I will not go to dinner with you."

"Nooo. No no. Not to dinner." He shrugged. "I just want a tour of the Opera House."

"A tour? Surely you've had one already."

He flashed a wide grin, his arm reaching sheepishly to his neck. "Well, yeah." His blue stared intently at her. "Only the official one, and I bet you know where all the good spots are. The ones they don't show us." He gestured to himself. "The viscounts and things."

"Hmm." Christine watched him softly for a moment, then smiled gently. "Very well. However, I would be careful, they say there is a ghost."

Raoul chuckled warmly. "I've been hearing about him ever since I first came here." He glanced at Christine. "Do you think he's real?"

"I doubt it." Christine laughed. "Honestly, spirits coming from the grave to haunt an Opera House. This is a modern age of science, not legends and myths."

"Everyone seems quite convinced that he exists." Raoul said seriously. "They even say the new opera is his, what's it called, Don Yuan's trident?" He winked.

"Don Yuan Triumphant." Christine correct him. "Careful Monsieur, the Opera Ghost does not like insults."

"Ah yes." Raoul shrugged. "May we start the tour now?"

Christine schooled her face seriously. "First, we must visit the basements."

"The managers won't show me those." Raoul scowled. "Little twits, I bet they're just scared."

"Everyone is." Christine informed him. "I hear the seamstresses draw straws to gather the costumes down there."

"You don't seem afraid." He observed as they began walking down the hallway.

Christine shrugged. "As I said, I don't believe in ghosts. Especially the Opera kind."

"Fair point."

They turned down the stairs, Christine ignored the stares of a few actors and ballet girls, the lead singer accompanying patrons was nothing new.

"Do you know everyone here?" Raoul asked as they continued down.

Christine nodded. "Almost, but mostly everyone. And I don't, someone I know will."

"Do you know a chap named Boquet?" He asked, waving to a passing actor. "I've heard he's the man to talk to if you want information."

"No one knows where he is." Christine said smoothly. "He's been missing for weeks."

"Really?" They turned down another stairway and began down another hallway. "Has no one filed a report to the police?"

"No one liked him very much." Christine said grimly. "He was a very disagreeable man."

"I see." Raoul stared thoughtfully into the distance. "Do you think that anyone will ever look for him?"

"I doubt it." Christine smiled. "Monsieur, we are on the first basement."

"The first?" He looked around curiously. "How many basements are there?"

"Five." Christine smiled primly. "I will only be showing you three."

"Three?" Raoul looked at her. "What's wrong with the last two?"

Christine looked away. "Strange things happen when people visit those." She murmured. "Most prefer to remain on the higher levels."

"I thought you didn't believe in the ghost." Raoul said accusingly.

"I don't." Christine said. "But even I can admit that something strange happens on the lower levels."

"Very well." Raoul said. "Let's see those three basements."

She showed him the furnaces, the winding tunnels and the racks and racks of costumes. Raoul actually shouted with delight as he found an old sailor's cap.

He donned it and began swaggering around the racks, pausing to stare at a trunk. "What's this now?" He said in a gruff sound quite unlike his usual voice. "Treasure hmm? We'll be rich!" He declared, kneeling to throw open the trunk.

It was empty, a prop for the stage, never meant to be really used.

Not to be disappointed, Raoul grasped thin air and held it out to Christine. "Look at that!" He pulled an imaginary pipe out of his mouth. "Well what do you know? I've never seen anything like it, it's almost like nothin."

Christine smiled, taking the air from him she set it back into the trunk. "Best leave it for the next explorers to find." She said seriously. "There's little enough treasure as is, Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock who?" Raoul stuck his pipe back in. "Another man? Hmm. Shall I duel him for your hand?"

"Heavens no. I'll decide whom I'll marry." Christine said, standing and slamming the trunk shut.

"Course course. Twas only a suggestion." Raoul said, sweeping off his hat gracefully and setting it were he had found it.

They moved on to the second basement, then the third. He didn't argue when she told him to climb back up all the stairs.

Then they visited the dressing rooms, the halls of sets behind the stage and climbed the winding riggings that managed the curtains and backdrops.

"It's like being at sea again." Raoul said. "We'd have ropes just about everywhere there too."

"I imagine, having to manage all those sails." Christine smiled and stared down at the stage, realizing that this must have been near where Erik had been during the audition. "It's quite the view." She commented.

"I bet the roof has an even better one!" Raoul said brightly. "Want to go there next? I haven't seen the view there yet."

Christine closed her eyes, squeezing them shut she forced back a sudden onslaught of tears. "No." She said. "I can't take you on the roof."

Raoul turned to her, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Chris, is something wrong?"

"Not anymore." She smiled. "The roof... is painful for me to visit. I'm sorry."

Raoul nodded. "I understand, we don't have too." Absently he pulled a pocket watch out of his jacket, silently he cursed. "Chris, I gotta go. Thanks for the tour, I had a great time." He tucked the watch back in the folds of silk.

Christine felt her lips press together tightly, she grasped his shoulder, turning him to face her. "What did you call me?" She asked, staring at him intently.

"Aaaaah. Chris. Sorry, I just..." Raoul shrugged. "I like nicknames, all the sailors used em. I used to be Richy, as in, I'm rich. I hope you don't mind."

Christine shook her head slowly. "No. No I don't." Playfully she pushed him away. "Come now Richy." She chastised. "Best get to your next appointment."

Raoul nodded. "Thanks again Chris. Have a good day."

"You what?" Meg shouted at the next day at the Sunday dinner. "You gave him a tour? Why didn't you bring me?"

Christine looked down at her chicken, some sauce oozed out as she cut herself another piece. "I didn't think of it. I'm sorry."

"Really Meg." Madame Giry said. "Christine cannot be expected to invite you to every event you find mildly amusing."

Meg blushed and looked down at her chicken. "Sorry mamam."

Christine smiled gently. "It's quite alright, I don't mind."

"Well other people will." Madame Giry snapped. "She'd best learn her manners now rather than later."

Nadir looked up from his own chicken, his third helping. "How was your day, Annoittete?"

"Annoying." Madame Giry stabbed her food with her fork. "Really, that Opera Ghost better shut up about poor Mary being too slow I swear I'll climb down those cellars and kill him myself." She shoved her fork in her mouth and began resolutely chewing.

"Mother, he is right." Meg said meekly.

"Well she sprained her ankle, she can't help it." Madame Giry glared at Meg. "He told her to hurry up five times, she's thinking of leaving the corps and she's my best pointe dancer. I can't lose her."

Christine pressed her lips together in frustration. "He is being awfully particular."

"I declare I don't know what's gotten in him!" Madame Giry cried, throwing her fork on her plate. "It's like he's suddenly turned on the world. The managers are looking like they haven't slept in weeks. I wouldn't either with all he's been piling on them."

Nadir frowned, giving Christine a look, then turned to Madame Giry. "It's your best production yet." He said gently. "You have to admit, all that criticism has forced a large amount of improvement."

"Well I feel the the same effect could be had with a more tactful hand." Madame Giry snapped.

"He's been getting worse." Christine murmured.

"Our first performance is next week." Meg said. "I'm so excited, it's going to be wonderful."

Christine set her spoon on her plate, she pushed out her chair and picked up her dishes.

"Where are you going?" Meg asked.

"To bed." Christine said, her hands trembling as she placed her cup on her plate.

"But we haven't had desert yet?" Meg argued.

"I'm not hungry." Christine answered, walking away into the kitchen.

Her hands shook as she washed the dishes, she almost broke a bowl while drying them.

_Twelve officers, each on poised to kill him._

He always watched the performances from box five. Always, one of them was bound to hit him.

_"There have been some rather bad threats."_

But if he was truly threatening them, and if he had ever intended to follow through, perhaps it was for the best. Christine thought as she climbed up the stairs. Erik's moral compass had never been good.

_"It's like he's suddenly turned on the world."_

Instead of hiding away to die, he had become worse than ever. Become what she had always feared, that what was inside him, what she had feared when he had talked of Boqout had taken over.

Christine sat on her bed, a tear slipped down her cheek.

_"The first performance is next week."_

Tears slid from her eyes as she slid under her covers.

_Oh Erik. _She begged silently. _Please be careful, please don't turn into what people fear you have._

When Meg slipped into her own bed, Christine was still awake, contemplating. Meg's breaths soon became even and deep, signaling that she had fallen asleep just a few minutes afterwards.

Christine didn't sleep until it was almost dawn.


	19. Chapter 19

Christine knew exactly the moment when Erik stepped on the stage.

How could she not? His voice, golden and heavy, was nothing like the male lead. She could hear him, feel the strains of his voice filling her as he sang to her, and she would not look. It was not part of the choreography, she would not look.

But she would look at the boxes above the audience, darkened shadowed boxes that held the twelve men. Would they shoot?

They had not anticipated this, Christine had not anticipated this, the managers hadn't, no one had.

Now that he was here she realized that she, at least, should have seen it coming all along.

The opera had started innocently enough, a minor mistake in the ballerina scene, a flat note here, a dragged scene change there. All the regular mistakes of a show, and Christine doubted the audience had noticed.

The first and second act had streamed by in a blur, with thunderous applauses and cried of enjoyment.

Then they had gotten to the last song, the final scene.

It had always been Christine's favorite. It was beautiful, the most beautiful song she had ever heard, she admitted. It was not a heavy, passionate song like some people thought. It was quiet, tender and in it's own way the most powerful song in the room. Two lovers united, after trial after trial, they triumph. Their love overcoming all.

Christine loved it, she had adored that song.

But then Erik had come, she had heard his voice, knew he had somehow stopped the usual lead from coming foreword. Somehow, the lead was not there, and Erik was singing his part ever so much better than the old one.

She sighed with relief as he reached the climax of his line, crooning for her love, filling her with an unmatched need to fill it.

Behind her, a single cold finger stroked her back that was most definitely not planned, he was supposed to wait for her and not touch her. Shivers ran up her spine, and she spun round and ran her arms around his neck.

Any other moment it would have been romantic, but here it was stiff, planned, it had been what she was supposed to do.

Don Yuan's mask was there, and the familiar black holes in the mask stared at her. She could not look away. Slowly his hand lifted, rubbing her jawline.

Now it was her turn to sing!

She began, but the world was hazy, his voice had overcome her, her voice cracked in the next few notes. It did not take long, however, until she held her own and her mind cleared.

Ten years of instinct drilled into her by near daily lessons, ten years had prepared her for this moment. To push back his voice, to claim some of the hypnotically beautiful music for herself.

And she knew he felt it, he knew that she was as good as him now, they were equally matched partners once again. Except this time there were no other couples to compete with, there was only each other to overpower.

His voice joined her, wrapping his golden strains around her silvery ones. Creating music, creating the thing that she had breathed and lived for since the day she had first began to talk.

Then he began to walk away and some part of her not overcome with music panicked. If he moved away from her, would they shoot him?

They did not, Christine understood why when she looked from Erik to the backstage. There the rest of the cast stood, watching them with a glazed expression on their eyes. None of them would shoot, his voice was too powerful, perhaps hers as well. It stopped them from thinking clearly, and they didn't have Christine's training, her experience from her time with him.

She continued singing, turning her body towards the audience to declare her love for him, for Don Yuan.

For Erik.

He did the same, finishing his declaration with a call to her again, reassuring her of his love. Promising her the world if she would only follow him, he would be faithful to her, he would only love her. If only she would love him in return.

Christine replied, telling him he had her love, even if they would only have tonight.

A tear ran down her cheek.

They only had tonight.

They walked round the stage, the orchestra condescending into a euphoria that filled Christine with the power to match Erik as they both sang the highest point of the song.

Their voices clashed, her body was burning as they walked towards each other, they took each other's hands. Christine felt them, cool skin with long thin fingers that ran up her arms and pulled her close.

Their voices dwindled, Christine laid her head on his chest once more, and the song ended.

Or it was supposed to.

It was supposed to! The curtain was supposed to close, the audience to roar with appreciation and for them to clap.

But there was silence, the silence of an audience that did not understand what they had heard. Christine barely understood it herself.

His arms were around her, holding her close. Christine realized they were trembling, that he was as unsure as her. The realization steadied herself, and she began to sing again.

"_Say you share with me one love, one lifetime_." Christine sang, just loud enough for Erik to hear. "_Save me, lead me from my solitude_."

She could not say why the words came to her, she only knew that they were true and she wanted him to know, to know what she felt for him. His arms stiffened around her waist, through the layer of fabric, she felt his heart quicken.

"_Say you'll need me here, beside you._" Her breath caught, and her voice trembled. Then she breathed in, and sang loud enough for the whole audience to hear. "_Anywhere you go let me go too! That's all I ask of-_"

Hands had appeared behind Erik's head, Christine broke off the song, and suddenly the mask was gone.

Christine gasped, his nose, he had no nose. His eyes were like sockets and flesh was pulled in every which way. Muscle shone through some places, and in other paper thin skin was stretched over bone. It was everything she had expected and nothing like she had expected. She froze, unable to speak or move.

Erik seemed as frozen as her, then suddenly he roared and turned away, covering his face. An audience member must have caught a glimpse of his face because there was a terrified scream. Christine flinched and suddenly she could move, she followed after Erik, trying to comfort him, trying to help him-

She saw Raoul, standing a few feet away holding Erik's mask, looking stunned at what he had uncovered.

Anger exploded from Christine, she tore the mask from his hands and her hand reached up and slapped him across his face.

"How dare you!" She cried. "How dare you harm him this way!"

More screams were filling the air, Christine whirled back to Erik, who was covering his face with his hands. He was crying, sobbing, hardly able to move from the shaking of his body.

She ran to him, took his wrist and began singing softly to him, trying to calm him. He pushed her away, said something undecipherable. She shook her head wildly and followed him.

Then from the corner of her eye, she saw the glint of a pistol from the nearest box. With a cry of warning she shoved Erik forward as she heard the loud bang.

Then pain exploded from her head, she couldn't see, the was something red spilling in her eyes and Christine screamed in pain.

Hands grabbed her, soft and warm, she tore them away. She raised a hand and tried to stop the bleeding with her hand, the wound the painful to touch but she pressed her hand against it nonetheless.

Then suddenly there was a popping sound that was not the crack of a gun and the air was full of smoke, she breathed it in and coughed. Memories rose to the surface in her mind but she somehow found the strength to shove them down.

More screams, more gunshots.

Cold hands gripped her wrists, she fell with a sob into Erik's arms, she felt him pull her against him.

And then the world was thrust upwards, or perhaps, they fell down, in her state of pain and fear she couldn't be sure.

When Christine woke again she almost fainted again because of the pain in her head.

She heard panting, she felt arms holding her close.

Slowly she looked up and saw Erik in all of his deformed glory, carrying her through a dark tunnel.

His eyes...

She blinked several times, trying to clear her vision and the throbbing that was behind her skull. His eyes, they were glowing softly, a small golden light that even a candle would have rendered it obsolete, but here in the near complete dark...

Her hand reached up and touched his cheek gently, Erik stumbled, pausing to look down at her.

"You're eyes..." Christine whispered.

He closed them, and the world went dark. Her hand found his eyelids and clumsily stroked them.

"They're beautiful." She told him.

He took in a breath, rattling down his throat and lungs. "It does not matter." He said, but opened them and they continued walking down the hall.

"What happened?" Christine asked wearily.

His answer was brief, briefer than she would have liked. "I have brought you below the stage, we are beneath the Opera House now."

"And my head?" Her hand touched the wound and felt soaked silk wrapped around her head.

"The bullet will not kill you." Erik said firmly, more to himself than to her, Christine guessed. "It merely scrapped your forehead and took a small amount off your skull. It will heal, but it requires stitches."

"I see." Christine sighed and closed her eyes, gently she tucked her head a little more in to his embrace. "Thank you."

The air was pressing against her face as Erik walked smoothly but quickly father and father down into the Opera House.

The air felt good, it felt wonderful against her wound.

"Erik..." She said.

He said nothing.

"I love you."

A strangled noise escaped from his throat, he swallowed and glanced down at her again. "Please, Christine, not- I can't-"

"I don't expect you to do anything with the information." Christine felt her lips twitch into a smile. "I just want you to know."

His breath became uneven, ragged, even. "Christine, I am not a suitable man for marriage."

"Why? Is it because of your face?" Christine forced herself to tilt her head upwards to look at his chin. "I don't care what you look like, I love you regardless."

He glanced down, his lips pressed tight together. "There are other reasons."

Her heart sank. "What did you say to the managers?" She asked, her voice a little stronger than the wispy breaths he somehow managed to hear.

"I- what?" He paused in his walking. "Perhaps I was a little more intimidating than usual." he admitted.

"They planned this, they wanted to capture you." She winced as a particularly bad throb came.

"I know."

"You know?"

"There had to be a reason they were so obedient." Erik began down the tunnel again and took a left turn. "Under normal circumstances, their precious Carlotta never would have been sacked." He glances down at her again. "I admit, I used Boqout's disappearance to my advantage."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you." Christine whispered. "I was afraid, that you really had hurt someone and I wasn't sure-"

"You needn't worry, the fault of all of this is my own." He assured her, a moment later he added, "That Veconte made it painfully obvious as well."

"Raoul?"

"That boy was asking everyone about the Opera Ghost, he is horribly inefficient at gathering information discreetly. He is in the military and his brother closely tied with the police force."

"Oh." Christine laughed. "And I showed him all about the Opera House like he was an honored guest."

"Yes, I believe you were quite useful in his search." Erik chuckled darkly.

"I'm sorry."

"It did no harm to me." He said gently.

Christine sighed. "I'm glad." She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder again.

"Erik?"

"Yes?" He voice sounded tired, exasperated, even.

"I missed you." She clung to his shirtsleeve. "I missed you so much."

And as her hand reached up to stroke his cheeks again, she felt tears rolling from his eyes.

Wisely, she said nothing, but simply rubbed them away and was silent for the rest of the journey.


	20. Chapter 20

**Before you read this, everyone give Horseland123 a round of applause, who kindly alerted me that I reposted chapter 19. Here is the REAL chapter 20. Thanks for the heads up!**

When Christine woke again, her mind still numb from whatever Erik had given her, she found herself laid upon a couch with a blanket draped on top of her.

Slowly she turned her head round, trying to find him. There was an open door frame on the other side of the room, it was lit by electric lights, she realized, and shelves of books were scattered around the place. A chair was just across from her, and a table to the left held a lamp. She could see a door peeking out from the top of the back of the couch, she did not know where it led.

There were no windows, despite the rooms rich decorating. Christine tried to rise, the world grew dark and spotted, she sank back down again. She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but despite her best efforts, her first word came out to be nothing more than a moan.

Erik appeared immediately of course, appearing in the doorway with a new mask, the white one. No longer in his flamboyant Opera costume, he was dressed as casually as she'd ever seen him. No vest, no jacket, just a white shirt with the top two buttons undone and black trousers.

"Are you well?" He asked, taking a step forward.

Christine gave him a pained smile and was pleased to hear words come out of her mouth. "How long was I out?"

He blinked, then began straightening the ends of his collar and began buttoning up his shirt. "Three hours, I believe."

Nodding slightly, and immediately regretting it, Christine sighed and sank a little deeper into a pillow behind her head. "I suppose the stitches are finished?"

"Of course." His hands wavered at his neck with nothing to do, they dropped limply to his sides. "Do you need anything, water? Nourishment?"

"No thank you." Christine said quickly, then hesitated. "Well, water does sound nice."

Away he sped, crossing the couch she was in and disappeared behind the back of it. She heard the trickle water and the clink of glass.

He returned, walking quickly but smoothly, he lowered himself next to her and held out a glass a little more than half full of water. She took it, her hands trembled and she forced them to steady as she drank the water greedily down.

"My throat feels like sandpaper." She whispered, then chuckled a little.

"It is an unfortunate side effect of the medicine I gave you, I apologize." Erik touched his mask gently and adjusted it as one might a pair of glasses.

"It's quite alright, a small sacrifice, really." Christine handed him the glass, he took it, taking extreme care not to touch her hand. He hurried out again and returned without it, rigidly he sat on a chair opposite her and stared determinedly into the wall behind her.

Gently she reached up and felt a bandage on her head, underneath it's thin cloth she felt stitches.

Christine then watched Erik absently, noting the twitch of his long fingers and admiring their nimble movement.

"Stop it." He snapped suddenly, his fists tightening into balls of tendons and bone.

Christine blinked. "Stop what?"

"Looking at me." His hands waved in the air and flattened his hair. "In... in that way. Please."

"I didn't realize it offended you so." Christine informed him.

"It does not offend me it-" he stopped to take a breath, struggling to bring it in. "It is unnerving. Please."

"I love you."

He collapsed back in the chair and tipped his head back to the ceiling. "Do not say that again." He said sharply.

"Why not? I do love you very much, I have for quite some time actually." Christine shifted so that she lay on her side. "It just took me nearly a decade to say it. Now that the ice is broken I wish to say as much as I can."

"Christine, please do not tempt me with things I will never have." He laughed darkly. "Else I fear I will give into the need to take it."

Christine quieted, she pulled her blanket up her chest and said nothing. "What do you want to take?" She asked suddenly. "If you had your way, how would things be?"

His head fell downward, and he stared at his hands in a dazed, almost crazy sort of way. "If I had what I wanted, I would keep you would stay here, with me, for all time. There would be no outside world, no light, no ground above. Only you, and I, and music."

"Now that sounds a little dramatic." She said, taking a gamble. "Now, something tells me even you would become claustrophobic if all that existed was this house."

"This is not a joking matter!" He cried, leaping from his chair and sneering at her. "Why must you make jest at everything? I cannot comprehend why you think so lightly of this."

"I wasn't joking." Christine told him firmly. "I admit, I was sassy. But I meant what I said."

"Very well! You are not satisfied with what I want. What do you think I should want?" He snapped.

"I think you're trying to scare me." Christine said softly. "I am a grown woman Erik, and you do not frighten me."

"I should."

"Why? Because you are as dramatic as Napoleon and your face isn't quite like others? I think not." Christine said sharply, raising herself a few inches despite the pain that came from it.

"I could kill you." He snarled, his powerful voice filling the room with his words. "Torture you in ways that would make you wish for death. I could take you right this moment, and no one would hear you scream."

Christkne watched him critically for a moment. "I trust you." She told him. "I trust you not to hurt me." Christine eyed him and raised an eyebrow. "I don't believe this, this darkness you insist on having around you, is who you are Erik."

Sarcastically he raised his arms to the ceiling. "What is not, the killing, the torture?"

"I don't believe so."

"And what makes you say that?" He opened his mouth to a painfully large grin. "I have done both numerous times."

"Because I believe you've been showing me who you are for ten years." She said firmly. "You've spent so much time with me, helping me, challenging me, and being kind- forgive me for assuming that is who you are, rather than the darkened shield you throw up when life doesn't go your way."

He ran a hand through his hair and grasped a handful of it. "I am not a good man." He admitted.

"I know."

Silently he began pacing the floor, back and forth to the two walls. "What do you want me to do, then?" He asked.

"I want you to tell me what you truly want. Without all the dark underlying tones that you added to try to frighten me away."

He paced for a few minutes more, then sat in the chair again, staring at the floor listlessly. His mouth parted but no sound escaped, his fingers began drumming the arm of his chair. "It is difficult." He murmured. "It is difficult to speak it in a way that- that you would understand."

"Take your time, I'm not going anywhere." Christine assured him, adjusting her blanket so that it tucked under her arm.

He pressed his lips together and stared at the floor.

How long they stayed that way, she did not know, an hour or an age. There was no sound save the drip of water that must have come from a faucet in the kitchen. Until finally a voice spoke so quietly and pitifully that she almost didn't hear it.

"A house."

"A what?"

His voice came stronger. "I want a house. With windows, and a door."

Christine glanced at the papered, windowless walls. "Go on."

"I want sunshine to come through, like they do above ground." He swallowed and continued, gaining speed and volume. "I want a kitchen, with a stove and cupboards and plates and spoons and knives. And they will be used, by people, who come to see us- me.

"I want a library, with a piano. And a sitting room to greet people, and to talk with them and serve them. A-and a garden." He swallowed again and smiled gently. "A garden with flowers, and strawberries. Perhaps an apple tree, and raspberry bushes."

Christine nodded.

"And I want-" he hesitated. "I want a wife. I shall entertain her all days of the week, and we would take walks on Sundays. Then we would come home and we would sing and play. Perhaps if we grew tired of that I could read to her, and there would be a fireplace." He picked at a thread on his sleeve. "There would be a fire inside to keep her warm, and she would have all she ever wanted.

"It would be a small house." He informed her. "Easy to clean, and not at all troublesome. Should she ever feel tired I could easily take the task from her. She need not work if she wanted, and-" His voice broke. "I would love her, with all my heart. There would be no wife more loved and cared for than her, and she could simply hint at her wants and I would go to the stars and back to please her.

"I would want very little in return." He continued. "Only her company, and she need never see my face. And she would smile at me, and be happy with me." He paused, closing his eyes and sighing. "And that, dear Christine, is what I want." He glanced at her and suddenly leapt foreword from his chair.

"I have caused you pain!" He cried. "You are crying, has the pain in your head returned?"

Christine flinched and blinked her tears away, shaking her head. "No, Erik." Indeed, the pain in her head was gone.

"I did not mean to make you cry." He insisted, falling on the floor to his knees. "You asked, and then I did not stop-"

"You have done nothing wrong." Christine told him, reaching out with her hand. "Please Erik, crying is not always a terrible thing."

His body shuddered with sobs, and tears were streaming again from under his mask. He took her hand, pulling it close to himself he tenderly kissed her fingers, murmuring his love and words of love and others things that she could hardly understand through his sobs and his cries.

Before he could continue for too long, Christine clutched one of his hands and pulled him to her, somehow his mask fell away and she began kissing his tears. His arms flailed around her, unsure of what to do. Her hands carefully directed his own, and soon his arms trembled as they held him to her.

"I love you Christine." He gasped. "I love you but I cannot- I cannot be a husband to you."

"Why not?" She murmured after she kissed a tear rolling down his cheek "What you described sounded quite nice to me."

"You could not leave this place. You couldn't leave Meg, nor Emily. You belong here, with music, and you should begin your career, no Opera House would refuse you. You would be the star of Opera." He told her. "I cannot force you to leave it and to come with me, and- and I could not take you. You could have no career with me, no place in society."

Christine pulled her head away and looked into his eyes intently. "I don't want it." She told him fiercely. "I don't want a career, I don't want a place in society. I had a career Erik, in America, I left it behind to come here. I don't want another one."

"But your friends." His mouth choked on the last word. "Your companions, you will miss them."

"I shall miss Emily and Meg." She admitted. "But Emily has Adam and Meg has her mother. They don't need me anymore, and there are always letters. But all of it is nothing." She insisted, brushing away one of his tears with her thumb. "When I think of a life with you, I love you Erik. There is nothing more I wish than to be with you, and with you, I know I will be happy." Then she pulled his head towards her and kissed his mouth.

He returned it, holding her close and stroking her hair and when she pulled away he was smiling and clutching her hands and kissing them.

"I know the man is supposed to ask this Erik." She told him. "But I wish you marry you, and be with you all my days. Will you grant me that?"

He laughed and nodded and she pulled him in to kiss her again-

A loud thumb filled the room and they both froze.

A voice swore quietly, another one shushed the first. There was a creak and another, quieter, thump. Then another.

Christine felt her face pale and she clutched to Erik, desperate to keep him near her. There was some quiet whispering, and suddenly a knocking sound, a second, a third-

Then it came through the door beyond the couch. A voice called loudly through it, warm and as familiar to Christine as her own. "Come on Erik, open the door, I know you're there with Chris."

Then all the breath left Christine and disbelief filled her. She pushed Erik away and tried to stand, but darkness crept at the edges of her vision and she stumbled.

Strong, thin hands supported her and she clung to them, but struggled on all the same.

"You must rest." A voice said in her ear. "You must rest, you cannot stand now."

She pushed him away and stood, blinking away the darkness. "I must open that door." She cried.

"You may not." The voice in her ear cried. "You may not open the door!"

The voice behind the door cried out again. "Come on Chris, is something wrong?"

Unsteadily she moved her leg forward. "Erik, I'm opening that door and you can't stop me!"

Erik grabbed her and held her back, uselessly she struggled against his cold grip. "You may n-" he began.

"My father's on the other side of that door Erik!" Christine interrupted. "And I won't let him stay there!"

**Hello again! Thanks to anyone that is reading this and following this. I would like to apologize for my lack of updates, I just spent a month at my cousins house, had a fantastic time, but didn't get around to updating. This never had a regular updating schedule but I did try and update fairly regularly, we will now be back to that, as I am now home. All Reviews are really appreciated! They really brighten my day.**


	21. Chapter 21

He hadn't changed, not one bit.

Or, perhaps, he had. There were no silver flakes in his hair, no aged wrinkles complimenting his eyes, his smile was fresh and empty of pain.

"Chris!" He cried. "You've grown, look at you. I never would have guessed."

Christine gave him a pained smile while grasping Erik desperately, partly to keep her standing and partly to keep him from doing anything foolish. An arm was wrapped protectively around her waist, keeping her up and giving her a solid place to hang when the carpet was once again swept from underneath her.

Anxiously she looked to him, he was staring at Raoul's unconscious form supported by Nadir behind father.

Father.

"_Pappsen_." She murmured in Swedish. "_This is not the time_."

His face darkened. "Chris, what is going on?I admit, this business is taking me by surprise."

"Erik and I... This is my fiancé." Christine announced brazenly, behind father, she saw Nadir's eyes widen. "His name is Erik, we were preforming together."

Her father jumped foreword. "Excellent, I heard your singing." He held out a hand. "You two will be perfect together, you should have seen her as a kid, learned to sing before she talked, she did." Erik stared at the hand blankly until it was retracted.

"Pappsen, what happened to Raoul?"

He glanced behind him. "Ah, well he hit his head sliding down from that tunnel, knocked him out cold."

Christine remembered the first, loudest thump from the room and had to smile at the image. "I see. Best deposit him on the couch, I daresay he needs it more than I."

Erik's grip on her tightened, another glanced showed his grinding teeth. She rubbed his back, his tense muscles. He had to be calm, he couldn't explode now. "Erik, darling, will you please help me to that chair?"

He nodded, surprising her by sweeping her up in his arms, cradling her in his chest. He hurried past the struggling Nadir and carefully placed her blanket wrapped figure in the chair as he would a glass figurine. Her blankets were adjusted, and a cool hand gently checked the bandage at her forehead.

He turned nervously to the rest of the room, tense, fingers twitching, ready to fight off the invasion in his home. Gently she reached out and gently guided his head back to her. She reached foreword and kissed his chin, feeling him shudder as she did so.

"Not for long darling, I promise." Christine whispered against his skin. "They'll be out soon."

He nodded, taking one of her hands and pressing it to his lips.

"Look at that!" Her father said with pride. "I knew she would choose a gentlemen, she wouldn't settle for anything less-"

"Papa this is not the time." Christine said, leaning away from Erik, clutching her blanket. "There are some serious matters to be discussed and I will not have your inability to take things seriously affect them."

He fell silent, and a trace of the weariness she was used to seemed to come back.

"How did you get here?" Christine asked coldly, gripping Erik's equally cool hand. "In this time, I mean? I do hope you know what I'm talking about."

Gently Gustav Daae's rough hands tugged at a golden chain around his neck and pulled it out.

Christine nodded in satisfaction. "I thought so."

He smiled, his eyes twinkling and Christine pressed her lips together to prevent her relief from showing through. "Did your mother tell you? You were pretty young when you left."

"Left?" Christine bristled. "Left what?"

He winced, he paused, leaning against a bookshelf. "I guess not." He stopped, gazing at the books for a moment. "Chris, what year were you born?"

Christine glared at him. "Father I don't know what your-"

"Humor me."

She glared at him. "1998." She said quietly.

The room fell deathly silent. Erik's hand tightened, Nadir, sitting at the end of Raoul's feet stared at her like she was insane. Her father sat back, looking pleased.

"Well, you weren't." He said, pushing the shelf away to pick up a stray piece of paper on the floor. "You were actually born in 1864, your mother and I came here accidentally," he gestured to the necklace on his chest. "But this had been stolen from us, I was able to get it back, when you were seven. Your mother wanted to leave, but I wanted to stay. I let her take you back- I thought you would be happier there."

"Back, back where?" Erik asked icily.

Undaunted, her father faced Erik. "To the future, to over a hundred years in the future."

"You're mad." Nadir's voice said hoarsely. "You're both mad."

"I- I thought so too." Christine told him. "It all seemed so strange, and so distant once I'd lived here for a few years and- I could barely believe that such a world could exist. I convinced myself it was a dream-"

"You grew up in the future, then?" Her father's voiced sounded pleased. "I knew you would receive a better education there."

"I really did play with him." Christine realized suddenly, she glanced at Raoul's unconscious form. "I used to play with him, didn't I?"

Her father glanced at Raoul. "Certainly looks like him." He admitted. "His nose even looks crooked in the right way." He chuckled. "You got him good didn't you?"

"He taught me to swim." Christine remembered. "He rescued my scarf too."

"A true hero, through and through. Sadly it's a little more complicated now than grabbing a scarf now, isn't it?" Her father said sadly. "He's a little too wrapped up in stories of rescuing damsels. You should have heard him, shouting about villains and kidnapping."

"I suppose." Christine smiled, rubbing Erik's hand she flashed him a warm smile. "I didn't even need rescuing." He looked at her and then to the still figure on the couch.

"You like him? That boy?" Erik choked out. "You knew him when you were young?"

"Of course I like him!" Christine told him. "But I also like Nadir, and Adam, and Meg. I love you." She smiled. "I knew him for a few months when I was seven. Why, was I supposed to fall in love with him? I barely know him."

"If it had been a story." Erik said softly. "I would have been a monster, and he would have come to rescue you, and you would have lived happily forever after." His voice turned bitter.

"Mm." Christine chuckled. "I don't know, I've read stories where it didn't quite happen that way."

"Christine, you do know what Erik is?" Nadir's voice called, she turned to face his deep brown skin. "What he's done?"

"Oh, Persia, the rosy hours? Yes yes yes." Christine shrugged at his surprised look, she squeezed Erik's hand as he gasped slightly. "I know."

"He's murdered." Nadir warned.

"I know."

"He's tortured."

"I know."

"He _is not a good man."_

"I know."

Nadir took a deep breath. "Christine, he killed Bouqet."

"For the last time, Nadir, I do not know what happened to the man." Erik snapped. "He could have gotten drunk and fallen in a river for all I care."

Christine nodded. "He didn't kill Bouqet." She said.

Another deep breath from Nadir. "You cannot know that, please do not defend him."

"He didn't do it." Christine said stubbornly.

"Who did then?" Nadir snapped. "The other Opera Ghost?"

"I did."

He gaped. "No."

"He attacked one of my ballerina girls, it was far under the opera house, long after most of the cast left. We deposited his body not long after." Christine smiled. "Ask Madame Giry for farther evidence."

"Why-why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, we can't be expected to run to you for everything."

Nadir gritted his teeth. "Very well, but he is far too old for you."

"Really?" Christine turned to Erik. "How old are you?" She asked.

He shrugged helplessly. "My late fifties, I don't know for certain."

"That's fine." Christine smiled and reached up to stroke his cheek gently. "Rather perfect, in fact. I'm fifty two."

She ignored the two surprised sounds as she drew Erik in for a quite kiss on the lips. She pulled away and had the tact to look a little embarrassed. "I don't look it, I know. I really only really noticed how young I looked a few years ago."

"Children." Nadir gasped. "What if you have children like him?"

"I'd love them just as much as I love him." She reassured him. "However, my cycle ended three years ago, there is no danger of children." She smiled wryly. "Proof of my age, I suppose. Most women stop around that age, I believe."

"You're older than I am." Her father announced suddenly. "I'm surprised."

"Yes. You wouldn't know anything about my tendency to not age would you?" Christine asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Ah, well, the necklace halts aging. So you look the same when you go home." His mouth twitched. "I expect you've been under it's influence since you were seven. Luckily it prioritizes health over consistency, otherwise you would appear a very odd seven year old."

"The necklace, it allows you to travel through time?" Erik asked.

Christine nodded. "Yes, it does. That's-"

_Her father lifting the necklace off his head and handing it to her, his eyes twinkling._

_"I want you to have this."_

_"Pappsen!"_

_"It's yours now. Be careful __**min angel**__."_

"Pappsen gave it to me." Christine said. "Before the concert. Before the accident."

Erik was quiet, he stared at the swinging necklace in her father's hand. Abruptly, he stood and left the room.

Christine watched him, a hint of confusion leaking into her face.

A few moments later he returned, this time, with something clutched in his large, bony hands. Carefully, he pulled out Christine's hand and pooled a cool metal material into her hand.

Christine looked at it and felt herself go pale. "Erik-"

"It was my mother's, she left it to me when she died." He said quietly.

"Erik!"

"Chris, look at this."

Christine's head snapped to her father, he held up the sheet of paper in his hand. It was a music sheet, a title sprawled across the top, _Clair de Lune._

"Wasn't this published in 1891?" Her father asked.

Christine pressed her lips together and whispered. "Erik, you said that you's heard that song before, where did you hear it?"

"My- my mother used to play it." He said, sounding startled. "I understand that- that it was my father's favorite."

Christine gasped and looked down at her hand.

A golden watch, perfectly identical to her own stared back up at her.


	22. Chapter 22

Christine balked. "No."

"I'm afraid so."

"You're not from the future as well!" Christine moaned. "It would be ridiculous."

"I cannot recall a time that I was in this "future" that you speak of." Erik said quietly.

"Maybe your mother..." Christine squeezed the locket in her hands and looked up into his eyes. "Or your father.."

"I would not know, my father died before I was born."

Christine glanced at her father, and then at Nadir, his hands cradling his face. "Perhaps we should discuss this later. Raoul will need to be cared for, and Nadir seems rather overwhelmed."

Father chuckled. "I don't blame him, time traveling is a rather daunting subject."

"Perhaps if we purchased him The Time Machine, I remember...-"

Her father cut her off. "It hasn't been written yet."

"Very well, what is to be done with Raoul?" Christine huffed, leaning into Erik's shoulder for rest. "He needs to be checked on, and to be convinced that I am in no danger."

She felt Erik's trembling hand stroke her arm timidly, she grasped it and kissed it. "Could you please look at him darling?"

He nodded, and slowly drew from her side went to Raoul, his thin legs smoothly taking long strides as he crossed the room again. A languid, thin hand reached over to Raoul's head and pushed back his blonde hair to reveal a quickly coloring bruise.

"There is no danger." Erik said quietly. " He will need bed rest, but his family will be happy enough to provide that."

Christine smiled in relief. "Good, I was worried he would be seriously hurt."

Erik's cold hands let the hair fall again, one of his cold fingers brushing the bruised forehead. Raoul stirred. Erik flinched, his hand jerked back. He retreated back to Christine's side, lips pressed together, forming an almost disturbing line around his mouth.

The vecont moaned and rose a few inches. "What happened?" He choked out, his hand touching his forehead. "I had the strangest dream... we were in a room of mirrors, then a forest. There was a lion... it was so hot."

Nadir smiled coolly. "You hit your head coming down. You're fine."

"Oh." He looked around the room and jerked foreword at the sight if Erik. "Christine! Come, we must escape." He leapt to his feet. "Curse this wound, Nadir! We need to find a way out, he'll catch us in the tunnel. Monsieur Daae..."

They all stared at him, not one of them moving an inch. He stared back. "What is wrong with you all?" He gaped.

Her father took a step forehead and gently pushed him to sit down. "The damsel is not in distress." He explained.

"What?"

"I'm not in trouble Raoul." Christine quickly explained. "I wasn't kidnapped, I chose to go with Erik."

He stared at her, dumbfounded. "Erik? Erik who?"

"Erik..." Christine bit her tongue. "The Opera Ghost."

"I thought you didn't believe in him."

Christine smiled gently. "I don't believe in ghosts."

Erik stirred uncomfortably, her hand slipped around his again. Raoul watched the action, glancing from their joined hands to her. "You're engaged." He commented flatly. "To the Opera Ghost."

Christine blinked. "Yes, how did-" She glanced at her finger to find a gold band resting on her marriage finger. She glanced at Erik sharply and he looked away. "Yes." She repeated, squeezing his hand. "Yes I am. I love him."

"He's a criminal." Raoul snapped, leaning foreword and staring at her with his blue eyes intently.

"I know."

"He's murdered."

"Yes."

"He's insane."

"No more than I."

"He hurt you."

A growling noise came from Erik's mouth and Christine bristled. "He did not, one of your men accidentally shot me. Erik sewed up the wound and gave me the medical attention I needed.

Raoul pressed his lips together and pushed back his sweating hair. "Christine, you told me about Bouqet-"

"He didn't kill Bouqet, I did." Christine told him coldly. "He was raping one of my girls and I shot him. Madame Giry and I kept it private."

He blanched, turning pale and sitting back against the couch. "You what?"

Christine gritted her teeth. "We have been over this with Nadir, Erik did not kill Bouqet. I did."

"Why didn't you report it?"

"We did. Two very kind officers took care of the body. We asked them to keep it quiet. I don't think they reported it."

Raoul groaned. "That was a violation of... oh never mind." He jaw set. "Christine, please, you can't marry him. Come with us, whatever he's done-" Erik's hand tightened around her own. "We can protect you, we can keep you safe."

"Well you can't return my heart now can you?" Christine said sarcastically. "He's got it for keeps I'm afraid." Her mouth twitched up into a smile. "But in all seriousness, this is my own choice, I want to marry Erik. I love him very much. He's my voice teacher you know."

"Your what?"

"He taught me to sing." Christine said patiently. "He's a wonderful teacher and he loves music as much as I do. I couldn't help myself."

"He's been stealing money..." Raoul said helplessly.

"It would do a great deal of good to both managers to have their wallets trimmed." Christine said coolly. "Besides, he's been giving them plenty of advice in return, they're fools not to take it."

Raoul shut his mouth. "You're insane."

She smiled. "Quite."

His eyes glimmered helplessly. "He's done something to you. To make you think you love him. You're under-"

"I am not under anything." Christine said in a low and very dangerous voice. "You are not my keeper, nor my father nor my husband. I will make my own choices, I choose Erik. You will accept that and you will leave, you need rest."

"I love you." He whispered, and she thought she saw his eyes beginning to brim with tears. "You don't remember. I am the boy that rescued your scarf from the sea. You punched my nose, I've loved you ever since."

Christine gave him a sweet but sad smile. "Yes, I was that little girl. I remember now. But I am not a little girl any longer, I have grown and changed. You don't know me anymore. You remember a memory, someone that no longer exists. I'm sorry, you're very sweet Raoul, one day you will make a women very happy." Here her voice grew firm. "I am not that women."

Helplessly slumped Raoul against the couch, then he chuckled softly. "I've always seem myself as a knight in shining armor."

Christine chuckled as well while continuing to stroke Erik's bony hand. "Erik is no dragon." She told him. "He's simply the one that would safely poison the dragon from a distance while most would charge at it foolishly." Here she glanced at Erik and found him with a touch of a smile on his lips. "I suppose I find that endearing."

Erik shifted on his knees and gripped her hand tighter.

"I love you." She reminded him, reaching out and squeezing both his hand with both of hers. "I love you very much."

His head lifted and the black holes in his mask bore into hers. "And I ardently adore and love you, angel." Swiftly he brought her hand to his lips, his cool lips pressing firmly against her knuckles.

Christine smiled at him, their hands settled back on the arm of the chair. As they did so, Erik gave Raoul an intense glare. Raoul stared back with a fierce expression, but squirmed and fumbled with his hands as he did so.

"Erik, please, if you thought I was in danger you would have come after me as well."

Erik gave a small grunt, released Raoul from his gaze and looked at their intertwined hands. "He loves you." He said.

"Well I don't know." Christine pressed her lips together and glanced at the confused Raoul. "I'm old enough to be his mother." She whispered firmly. "He is no danger to us, I assure you."

Her slim hand touched his chin and tilted his head up towards hers. "Will you please take him back to the surface? He needs to go home."

Raoul stiffened. "I'm not going anywhere." He insisted. "It's highly improper for you to be left alone-"

"I will not be alone with him." Christine said so sharply that Raoul flinched. "I have my father here as an escort. While you-" Here she glared at him. "are as much as a danger to my reputation here as Erik is. I will tell you one last time, leave me be, I owe you nothing. I never wish to hear you interfering with my life again, understood?"

"I understand."

"Thank you." Christine pressed her lips together. "Erik, will you please take him to where he belongs?"

"As long as he wears a blindfold while he does so." Erik said coldly.

"I will." Raoul said quickly. "Please Christine, just... Promise me that you will come to me if... if anything goes wrong."

Christine gritted her teeth, her hand tightening over Erik's. "I will make no such promise to you." She said slowly but fiercely. "However, if anything does go wrong I will go to Nadir, that I can give you my word on." She glanced at Nadir, who nodded approvingly.

"Very well." Raoul said quietly.

Erik rose silently, his hand slowly pulling away from hers. He left the room quickly and came back with a thick strip of wool.

Raoul allowed it to be tied around his eyes, grimacing at the tightness of the band but didn't complain. Erik pulled Raoul around the couch, halting in front of the wall. Gently he pressed a pattern and a portion of the wall fell away. Raoul was led through, it shut behind them moments later.

"Quite the man you've got there Chris." Gustav's warm chuckled filled the room. Christine looked up to view his warm brown eyes. "I don't suppose you'd want your old father at the wedding now would you?"


	23. Chapter 23

Erik returned almost an hour later after depositing Raoul to the surface. While he was gone, Christine discussed with Nadir and her father what was to be done.

"It looks like I've been kidnapped at the moment." Christine told them. "It's not like I can go back and pretend nothing happened."

They talked for a time, but decided to wait until Erik returned before they made any final decisions.

Christine talked with her father, as he enthusiastically asked her about her life, about how she had come here. She answered them with growing weariness.

"Pappen, why didn't you come with Mamen and I?" She asked. "She missed you so much, I know that now. It hurt her when you didn't return with her."

Her father hung his head, and some of the age in his eyes that she was used to came. "I was selfish." He admitted. "I'm a good violinist Chris, I know that. In the future, I'm average, at least on the elite scale." He added. "I was struggling and struggling to be the professional I wanted to be. My goal," he remembered. "was to be the concert master for the New York symphony."

"Papa!"

"I know." He set his mouth. "When I came here, I was the best of the best. I loved it, going home meant leaving my success behind. I... I didn't want that." He closed his eyes, and a tear rolled down his face. "I chose my career over the both of you. I'm sorry."

"Pappen..."

"I wanted to go back, right after I dropped you and your mother off. But I didn't know how. It was too late."

Christine felt a tear stream down her cheeks and she wiped her eyes. "Pappen. It's not too late."

"Chris, I can't face your mother. Besides, if you don't remember me being there, I don't think I should try to change that."

"You don't have to face mother if you don't want to Pappen. She died when I was sixteen."

His head jerked up.

"You came to me three months after that, took me from foster care."

His eyes softened. "You were in foster care?"

"I was underage."

Suddenly courage filled his eyes. "I'm going back." He finally said. "Where I belong. With you and... and the rest of the future."

Christine stared at him, her hand tapping the arm of the chair. "Papa, if you go back, you will die. And not nicely either." She let a warning fill her voice. "I saw it."

"So?" He smiled weakly. "I can't abandon you again, once is enough."

"Papa, I will become a famous singer. Before a concert, here..." she paused. "Here in this very Opera House, they were doing some kind of revival. I was in the Opera they were doing, before the final concert...you gave me your necklace." Christine spilled out. "There was a terrorist attack-"

_Dust filling her lungs as the rumble of the falling building filling her ears._

"You won't make it." She choked. "You died, saving me."

His eyes met hers. "If there's anything worth dying for, you're a fair bet Chris. I'm going."

"At least come to my wedding." Christine told him. "Erik and I can settle a date and you can come back for a little while."

"Of course." He looked insulted. "What kind of a man do you take me for?"

Nadir returned to the surface after Erik returned, and her father stayed behind. They talked for a time, and settled on a wedding date. Her father was taken to the surface blindfolded, he would pack his things and leave.

Christine slept comfortably on the couch for the rest of the night, the two pillows and three blankets Erik keeping out the chill of the cellar.

She woke to the sound of eggs frying. She tried to stand, but her vision spotted so badly she sat heavily back down. She called for Erik.

He appeared next to her, fully dressed and with a cool black mask on his face. He carried her to the kitchen and sat her in a wooden chair.

She looked around her, staring at a small but beautiful dinner table, with a white laced table cloth covered the heavy oak. Flowers in a glass vase sat on top.

His kitchen looked very much like any others, Christine even forgot she was underground as he deposited a finished egg on her plate.

"Eat." He ordered.

She ate quickly, downing the egg in gulps. She hadn't eaten in over a day, being too nervous before the performance. When she finished another was placed before her, along with two slices of buttered toast and a cup of steaming tea. When she finished these, she informed Erik she was quite full and really didn't need any more.

He relented, and at her request, sat opposite to her.

"Erik, do you want to build our house, or buy one?" She asked, sipping tea.

He shrugged, his thin shoulders pushing up on the fine fabric while he stared at the table cloth.

"Erik, look at me please."

He looked away, reaching up to adjust his mask.

"I love you very much." Christine told him gently. "And when we are married, I would prefer if you would not wear a mask when we are alone."

His fists clenched.

"Do you wear your mask when your alone?" She questioned.

He shook his head stiffly.

"Then I would prefer you take it off when we are alone, after marriage." Christine reached over the table and grasped his white masked cheek, he flinched but followed her hand as she guided his head to look towards her. She stared in his dark eyes intently. "It is ultimately up to you, but know that is what I prefer."

"The mask... the mask is... it makes people stay." He whispered hoarsely, his trembling hands caught hers and he kissed it, his eyes closing in relief as he did so. Wet tears fell on her hand. "If you left..."

An awkward silence filled the air.

"I would never leave you." Christine said softly, hating the growing barrier.

He didn't answer, and looked away again. "I want to build a house for us." He said. "In Sweden, perhaps?"

"Sweden would be lovely, by the shoreline?"

He nodded. "Close to a town, should anything happen."

Neither of them spoke of his mask again.

That evening, Erik took her to the surface, a process she mostly remembered as having far too many boat rides and dark passage ways.

Still, she saw his eyes again, and their soft golden sheen.

She wasn't quite sure how, but by some means he magic'd her on the stage again. The opera house had been crawling with detective's and police after the performance received quite the shock at her reappearance.

They questioned her until her voice cracked from the hours of speaking, and they lamented over poor Christine, taken captive in the dark.

She described being pulled down by cold hands, waking in darkness and waiting for hours and hours until she heard a voice calling. It had told her that the Phantom's Opera had been produced and he could finally rest at last.

They believed her, or at least, they believed her to have had a dream. They took her to the doctor, who declared her wound sound and her mind just a well.

She was reinstated as a ballet instructor after a week, and didn't argue with this change.

Carlotta was reinstated to her former glory, the expected torrent of disasters never came. And when a few chorus members skipped rehearsal, they weren't locked into closets or had their music disappear right from their hands.

The formerly strong rumor of the ghost that surrounded the Opera House began to wane. Perhaps in a few decades The Opera Ghost would be a running joke, something to laugh about rather than to whisper with terror every time a stage piece fell apart, or a ballet dancer's shoes vanished.

Perhaps someday, Christine suspected, someone would write a piece of literature about it. But that was no concern of hers nor Erik's.

They met on the Opera House's roof regularly. Planning and talking for hours, and enjoying the stars that shined through the city's hazy light.

They talked of music, and of the world and how it would change, she told him much of what was to come.

Erik left to supervise their house's construction and she missed him. Sometimes she would sit on the roof and watch the horizon as if soon she would see him riding back to her.

He sent her letters every week, long, flowery letters that made her smile and even blush as he described the country side and compared it's beauty to her. In a way they were practical letters too, they always contained enough money necessary to cover the postage, and he told her of the construction of their house, and how far along it was.

She could always tell when he was agitated with the work, his penmanship would rapidly deteriorate until little more than an untidy scrawl, like a madman's script. She almost expected the ink to turn red with his rage. Then the writing would break off, and a few drops of ink would blot the page. Christine could imagine him, his hair mused, his cravat undone, his fountain pen hovered over the paper, dripping occasionally on the page as he struggled to control his ragged breathing.

After an average of a page and a half of his ranting, he usually turned to discussing poetry, it seemed to calm him somewhat. Somehow he made Tennyson's verses and Charles Dickens metaphors seem interesting, though the art of poetry had always been a dull subject for her.

She took to carrying his latest letter around in her pocket, rereading it whenever she had a spare moment until she could recite it under her breath.

Even as she said the well remembered words, they made her smile.

She sent him letters almost as often, she wrote of the Opera House, of how the productions struggled on, and how a few of his favorite singers and musicians were doing. She wrote of books, of Meg's engagement to Adam, and of the wedding that was to be set in the fall. More often than not, she sent him encouragement, all the wisdom she had gathered about patience in her fifty two years, and love.

It was a delicious feeling, know he would read them in a month's time or so, knowing that he would likely read her letters even more often than she read his, and somehow she suspected that he carried them in his breast pocket.

Emily noticed her giddy mood during her visits to the Opera House, and when Christine showed her the simple but thick gold ring that she wore around her neck, Emily joined, and exceeded the almost intoxicating happiness that Christine felt.

It took seven hours and two visits to her's and Adam's small apartment to convince her that Emily would not meeting Christine's fiance, and that there would be no wedding, only a small ceremony before going to the house he had prepared.

Christine promised to write, and so did Emily, who wept for Christine's happily ever after and for finally getting that tall dark haired man she wanted.

Three days later she gave birth to a baby boy.

Christine came, watching Emily kiss the tiny baby's face and coo over the tiny fingers and toes.

Something in her stomach twisted, and Christine left the room, dotting her eyes.

Don't wait too long... she had told Meg, and she had meant it. It was far too late for her to have the family she wanted But she would have Erik and, she firmly told herself, it was enough to have Erik. She clutched his letter in her pocket and sat down to read it. Losing herself again in the comfort of it's words.

When Erik returned, he seemed changed, and it took a few days before she could place what had changed in him.

He seemed more confident now, not in himself, but in her love and their engagement. He no longer looked on her as if she would tear away from him at any moment, and when she took his hand and looked into his eyes, she saw peace, not disbelief.

The night before their wedding, he ushered her to their old place on the roof and procured a gift, a box. Wooden, beautifully carved with roses and vines, a heavy lock in the front. Gently he pressed a key into her hand and moved an inch closer, all puffed up with boyish pride, watching her face as she opened the box.

Inside there was nothing but velvet lining, Christine looked up at him in mild confusion and felt herself smile in bemusement as he burst into laughter at her expression.

When he sobered, he pressed the box closer to her and said very seriously, "It's a mask box."

"I- what?"

He smiled, sitting up straighter in his pride. "It's where the mask goes, whenever you wish." He pointed to the key in her hand. "Only you shall open and close it."

Christine looked down at the key in hand, surprised.

"Erik has thought, no, I" He stumbled. "I thought much of you, and your request while building... our home. And I thought, what a silly thing for me to hide my face when we shall be alone. You love me." Here his voice shook. "You love me, and you will not need the mask to stay." Here he pointed to the box again. "And so it will go in the mask box."

Christine felt her eyes blur as he spoke, just as he began to exclaim if she was unwell, she pulled him close to kiss him. Loving him, and adoring that he had done this for her, because he had loved her.

Because she had loved him.

She wore her green gown for her wedding dress. Erik's kiss at the end of the short ceremony was soft, and tender, and a little cold, but Christine found herself far from caring, it was the first kiss he had ever started.

When they parted he seemed relieved, grasping her waist to hold her to him, she felt his heart beating fast as she pressed her face to his collar and kissed his chin, whispering her love to him.

Her father hugged her and cried. She whispered a few words of encouragement to him, knowing that he was dealing with, her teenage self.

Soon after she and Erik stepped into a carriage, Christine waving goodbye to her father. Once the door shut, she laid her head on Erik's shoulder her curled up against him. His arm hovered over her shoulders until she pulled it down herself. Once there, he held her tightly to him, tears streaming out from under his mask.

There was a long train ride ahead of them, and a boat ride too. Erik had described their house in such great detail, and sent so many sketches, she could imagine their life together stretched ahead as they left the church behind them.

There was a garden, the plants she wanted in the earth, waiting to grow. Soon she would be weeding them, humming tunes under her breath, knowing that Erik was inside, planning houses for those who wished for them.

There would be evenings around the fire, drinking hot tea and listening to the waves outside as they curled under a blanket together.

The woods held many berry bushes, Erik said, perhaps she would run among them dragging Erik behind her. Together they would fill the buckets with berries and she would turn them into preserves to last through the winter.

And the winter! They could curl in their bed together, save in the knowledge of a warm house and each other.

And perhaps that was what was most wonderful of all. Christine had spent ten years of her life at the Opera House, and she was glad of it, but she had spent it alone. Fighting through her challenges, depending on others, or fighting herself.

Now, she thought as she kissed away Erik's tears, whatever challenge that would come, she would face with him.

* * *

**Helllooooo! The. Story. Is. Finished! *cheers* Thank you everyone for making it through this story! I really hoped you enjoyed it, and if you didn't, I can see why. (I'm a critical person, not always intentionally but I tend to veer towards that, I'm very critical of my own work.)**

**This book has gone through so many drafts. It's crazy. I wrote and rewrote the plot, the characters, the setting. My knowledge really expanded, that changed things a lot.**

**Things that got cut**

**-The book used to take place over ten years which ended up being like, REALLY hard to write and I kept on getting stuck. Plus, it was just unnecessary.**

**-Christine originally got placed with six specific ballet girls that she taught. I found out more about how the Opera House worked, and with the new information, it didn't make sense. (The Opera House only took trained dancers, most often from conservatories.) Plus, they added a lot of complications and things... that just... really didn't need to be there.**

**Emily pretty much replaced all of them, and I might even scrap her in the next draft because honestly, her role was pretty irrelevant, and the places where she did add to the story can be filled by Meg.**

**-Christine got sick and almost died in one version, only to be saved by ERiK! (Ooooooh...) Scrapped.**

**I don't think these changes were bad thing. If I had gone with my original plot, I would have gotten stuck and given up. Instead, I worked at the plot until I was mostly happy with it and wrote it. A lot of things got added along the way, and I'm really happy with how it developed and I KNOW that it's the better plot now.**

**The writing needs work.**

**I'm not saying it's terrible, there are a lot of scenes I'm really happy with. (Especially chapter 11 sue me, that thing went through almost as many drafts as the first chapter.) But overall, I felt that it was a little laggy in most places and my dialogue needs work. Also, a ton of info that needed to be added in never got added in. (Like, a lot.) Somehow that's going to happen in the next draft.**

**But writing this book all the way through helped me identify that! It was an enormously helpful project, the second time I've written a book all the way though, and it's really helped me identify my strengths and weaknesses in writing. It was a really enlightening process.**

**I learned that I need to wrestle with a plot and come out with something complete before writing a book, otherwise I get stuck. I've learned that I need to give each scene a point as I'm writing it, (What do I want to accomplish here? How will this scene add to the story?) otherwise I meander and get stuck.**

**My grammar has improved SO MUCH! At one point I was writing almost a thousand words a day, or every other day, and almost instinctively I learned to be a better grammar user. My your and you're's came much more naturally, as did my its and it's's. My comma's improved along with my sentence structure.**

**I learned that I love writing about character's I'm passionate about. I learned that in fanfiction I really love to wander and add things into the story line to the point where the original work is barely recognizable and really I should just change the names of the characters and call it fiction but whatever.**

**I want to rewrite this book. I will rewrite this book, AFTER my next one. I know that I'll be a better writer then, thus making better improvements in this book.**

**If you want to stick around for that, follow me. FOR my next book, I'm debating on whether to do a continuation of this one, or a completely unrelated book also about The Phantom of the Opera.**

**Both books will be from Erik's perspective, and the sequel to this one will be a series of marriage life one shotish super fluffy and light thing, whereas the other will follow Erik going through Persia. No happy endings there. Nevertheless, I really want to write it, and I think it has a cool idea that I haven't seen before.**

**Let me know which one you want to see, OR whether I should both, which I'm leaning towards at the moment. (The unrelated book being my main focus, but doing the sequel on the side.)**

**And finally... some facts that you probably need to know that never really made it into this book-**

**-The necklace has this stupid long backstory that I won't tell you here. Suffice to say, it contains magic metal, an gift of a locket made of said metal, Christine's grandparents and lots of death. Hooray!**

**-The Locket places a sort of magical shield that keeps you looking the same as when you left, (So it won't appear that you aged rapidly when you return to your time.) it also keeps you healthy. This makes Christine pretty much immortal, as she has been under the locket's influence since she was seven, so it will keep her healthy and young forever.**

**-Erik's parents had a similar necklace, but decided to stay in the past. Erik's mother was pregnant at the time of the transportation, thus the shield thing that Christine's dad mentioned got confused and preserved his looks, but in the wrong way. He will also likely live as long as Christine does. (That "till death do us part" is going to be very ironic.)**

**-In case you didn't catch it, people decided to start doing Opera at The Paris Opera House again in the future, (It's mainly used for ballets at the moment.) and Christine was invited to sing. Before the final performance, Christine's father gave her the necklace, set to activate around the end, and send her to the past. He was needed backstage and so he couldn't be with her.**

**-The performance was invaded by a terrorist that actually managed to set off a bomb that he had stored in the halls. Christine's father was killed in the blast, and Christine crawled around for a bit in the dust until the necklace transported her to the past.**

**-Madame Giry was like the nicest person ever and took in the weirdest lady she'd ever seen that appeared out of nowhere and needed a place to stay. Then again, she was also a stupidly good dancer and was good at teaching so...**

**-Christine's parents were accidentally transported to the past and couldn't figure out to make it back to the future until almost ten years later. There was an argument, and Christine's mother returned to the future with Christine.**

**-Christine used to be an incredibly famous singer. (Think Michael Jackson and Julie Andrews and Beethoven all at once.) She was known for her stupidly large signing range, her versatile voice, and her and her father's compositions. She sang Pop, Opera and Disneyish style music and pretty much any style of music really. (Except for country. PLEASE don't make her sing country, though she once sang "Jolene" on a talk show just for the heck of it.)**

**-The reason why Christine's father wasn't panicked when his daughter was "kidnapped" onstage by a masked man was because he was supposed to be from later in younger Christine's timeline. Originally, he went with Christine's mother and then went back in time again for old time's sake and found Christine. He knew about Erik because Christine and Erik had lived together into the twenty first century and they talked sometimes secretly.**

**-This was changed so that Christine's father just stayed behind, and decided see what the Opera House was preforming. There was a reason for this, there were too many plot holes. There are still too many plot holes and my head hurts but we're gonna leave it here until I get that rewrite done. (Which shall be posted here, eventually.)**

**Thanks for reading this monster author note. Everyone have a sweet and lovely day. :)**


	24. Bonus!

**Surprise! I missed this story and write this for fun. It was sort of supposed to be part of NotaGhost3's Christmas concert but THAT didn't happen. So anyhoo. Here's a clip of their life after they moved to Sweden.**

**Also, side note. I was checking the statistics of this story and weirdly enough there is ALWAYS a spike of reads in chapter 4. I'm not sure why. It's not a particularly significant chapter. *shrugs* Do any of Ya'lls have any ideas why?**

He tired, really. He tried to keep himself from touching her when it was so late and so cold and no fire could keep it out. Most days the temperatures went down to fifty below.

He knew he was cold, he always was cold. It was so hard not to brush her warm, soft, cheek when he felt the knot of cold in his stomach tighten and twist.

But he was used to the cold. He would resist.

She was beautiful when she slept, she was always beautiful, but he liked watching her. Laying beside her.

Her mouth in a small smile, head sunken against the feather pillow, her braid spilling out from her head. It was coming loose, as it always was. A single curl rested against her forehead. He scolded himself for wanting to push it away. If he did so, then he knew he would kiss her forehead, and if he kissed her forehead, his arm would sneak around her waist and she would be pressed against him, sleeping in his arms.

In the summer, he had dared to stroke her silken cheek. Dared to reach under the covers to touch the ring at her hand and remember the pleased hum she had given when he had kissed her at their wedding.

Wedding. He shook himself.

But it was far too cold now. Now, she could not afford to share her warmth with him, it was bad enough that he was in the same bed with her. He did not need to have her in his arms every night as well.

If only she'd stop reaching for him...

She shifted in her sleep, and he shuddered, her hand reached out from her side and settled next to her head. Where his would be if it was summer.

Her pale lips parted, and a small sigh escaped them.

Were they too pale? Was she too cold? He didn't dare look closer to check. Instead, he slipped out from underneath the three quilts and feather blanket and went to the fire place at the other end of the room.

He gripped a log from the stack by the fireplace, and tossed it into the fire, then took the poker and stoked it.

The fire was warm, he let his hands hover over them for a few moments. But the thought of his lovely one brought him back to her bed. He slithered into the covers beside her and watched her again.

Soon, he was cold again. The fire's heat only lasted so long, he shivered silently under the blankets, a habit he had cultivated young.

There was a pop as the log burned, and Christine stirred. He tried to calm her, she needed her sleep, but her eyes opened and found him. She smiled, her two darling little dimples showing in her cheeks.

He stared at her. He'd always heard stories and poems about beautiful blue, green or even violet eyes. But to him, the height of beauty would always be her dark brown irises. He worshiped the way they danced and lighted when she was happy, and even the storm they became when she was angry. It wasn't often she was angry with him, more often her eyes would flash as she had to resew a seam for the third time, or when she read about some injustice from the letters her friends sent her. Yet there were times when he could see the clouds in them when she was exasperated with him, but then her eyes would close, she would breath deeply for a few moments and when she opened them again the seas inside would calm.

But they didn't look angry now, only merry at being awoken so late. "What time is it?" She whispered, shifting to her side, and sinking a little father below the heap of blankets.

"Three seventeen." He whispered back, his eye on the clock at her bedside table. The fire crackled again, the log he had put on was burning in earnest now.

She sat up at her elbows and looked at the fire. "You should be asleep." She whispered. "Not tending to fire's."

"But it is so cold..."

It was cold. He had warned her, when she wanted to move to the far north of Sweden. He had told it was cold, and for much of the year the barely shone an hour a day. Why did she want to go somewhere so cold and dark, when she was so full of warmth and light?

And yet she had said she would be fine, she had visited the north before, she knew how cold it was.

"Erik, I have so many blankets I hardly need-" She hesitated, then reached out to touch his hand. He jerked away as soon as she brushed his pale skin.

"Darling, you're freezing!"

"You don't worry about Erik." He said, falling backwards as she tried to take him into his arms. "Erik is warm enough, see? The fire-"

He crawled backwards in the bed to run away and she caught him. Pulling him down into her arms, he gave up, and rested against her chest.

Her warmth tingled against him, sunk beneath his skin and into the very depths of him. He was warm, from his head against her chest to his feet, brushing against hers, and she was so, so soft. He shuddered and moaned, and her arms tightened around him.

"You really should come to me more often if you are cold." Christine reminded him.

"You need it. It is so very-"

"Nonsense." She insisted, her lips came down and brushed against his head, sending a fresh wave of heat through him. "We had a deal, remember? You cool me in the summer and I warm you in the winter."

Yes, and he had agreed to it. Still, he shook his head, and pushed away, leaving her little cocoon of warmth. "No no. You must keep your warmth." He smiled, trying not to look like he would give anything to crawl back into her arms like the pitiful thing he was. The warm was already leaving him, he trembled in his thin clothes.

She looked at him, her lips pressed together and she shook her head. "No, darling, I like sharing my warmth with you. I want to-" She sat up and opened her arms. "Please, Erik?"

His hands, curse them, reached towards her before he could stop them. She caught him and pulled him again.

He was weak, he did not stay strong. He collapsed into her arms, didn't dare pull away. Suddenly she laughed, it danced across the air like light and he wished that he could catch the sound and use it in song. It was so easy to coax beautiful sounds out of instruments, ones he could replicate again and again.

But her laugh... her laugh...

"You're always so cold." Christine whispered. "I wish I could keep you warmer." She looked to the window, where the curtains were drawn. "Maybe we should have moved somewhere warmer. Italy, or-"

"No, no. Sweden is fine. Sweden is warm enough." He protested. It was where she had wanted to go, and he could bear it for her. It was easy, in her arms, and her warmth, it was harder when she was asleep and he would not allow himself to touch her. But he would bear a thousand cold nights for her company.

"I- very well." Her chin settled against the top of his head, and she began humming. He wasn't sure what, but it sounded familiar.

He listened to her beautiful voice for a few moments, perfectly backed by a crackling fire and the wind blowing outside.

"I love you." He whispered against her neck, his eyes closed so that he might focus on the wonderful evening.

"I love you too." She whispered back.


End file.
